Category: English

I started dating a guy who was on a full-ride scholarship, the kind for students with serious financial need. A month after we made it official, he told me he’d unenrolled from the university’s financial aid program. I was stunned. “What about your living expenses next month?” My boyfriend, Ben, just grinned. “Well, there’s you, right? Your family’s loaded. Better to let someone who actually needs the spot have it.” Right. So I wasn’t here for a relationship. I was his new financial aid package. 1 “Babe, this omakase place has amazing reviews and the pictures look incredible. I’m taking you this weekend.” I stared at the link Ben sent me, a little confused. I thought things were tight for his family. As far as I knew, he was still on a work-study program and received grants to cover his costs. Why was he suggesting a sushi place that was easily $200 a person? Was he trying to impress me on our first “real” date? “Honestly, those fancy sushi places are more for the Instagram post than the food,” I texted back. “The taste is usually just okay. We don’t have to spend that much. We could just grab burgers or tacos somewhere.” “No way,” he replied instantly. “This is our first official date since I won you over. We can’t just do something ‘whatever.’ We’re going. The reviews are great, it can’t be bad.” Hearing that, I dropped it. I’d actually been to that place a few times, and the food was genuinely good. I only suggested something else because I was worried about the price gap between us. “Okay, then. Should I meet you there, or are you picking me up?” “I’ll come to your side of campus. Just call an Uber when it’s time and I’ll meet you by your dorm. I can’t have my girl walking all that way to find me.” I won’t lie, that made me feel a little warm inside. Ben and I had only gotten together last week. We weren’t even in the same college within the university. We met by chance during a university-wide business case competition. He was our team leader—focused, responsible, and a natural leader. Even though he didn’t come from money, he worked harder than anyone. He led our team all the way to first place. During that time, he asked me out. I actually said no at first. But after his relentless, charming pursuit, I—a girl who had never even been on a date before—finally caved. That’s how we got together. No flowers, no grand romantic gesture. We were just in the student union food court, and for the tenth time, he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Clara, I really like you. And whether you like me back or not, I’m not giving up.” I looked into his sincere, intense eyes and finally nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s give it a try.” He broke into a huge grin and pulled me into a hug. And just like that, we were official. 2 Our dorms were on opposite ends of the campus. I was near the south gate, he was by the north. It’s a good fifteen-minute bike ride. The fact that he offered to come all the way to me… I thought, maybe this could really be nice. He seemed so thoughtful. The next day, I called an Uber Black right at our agreed-upon time. I watched the little car icon on my phone get closer and closer, but Ben was nowhere in sight. “How much longer?” I texted. “Almost there! Just got to the athletic fields!” “The fields? Ben, you need to hurry, the driver is almost here.” “I’m walking, not biking.” “What? We were supposed to meet at nine. It’s 9:05, and you’re still at the fields? On foot?” “Babe, just have the driver wait for a minute. I’ll walk faster, I can be there in ten.” “The driver charges extra for wait time, and it’s an Uber Black, it’s not cool to make them wait forever. Can you just grab one of those electric scooters? You can still make it.” “Ugh, those scooters are such a rip-off. It’s like, three dollars for a ten-minute ride!” I was getting annoyed but didn’t know what to say. Was I supposed to call him out over three dollars? Or ask why he couldn’t have just left his dorm fifteen minutes earlier? I closed my eyes and sighed. It was our first date. I didn’t want to start a fight. I opened Venmo and sent him $5. “Just grab a scooter and get here.” Ben accepted the payment instantly. “Thanks, sugar mama! Will work for food 😉 (winking cat emoji)” I frowned at the message. It left a weird taste in my mouth, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Two minutes later, Ben on a scooter and my Uber arrived at the exact same time. I gave him a look. He was late, and I was still a little irritated. 3 Then, he pulled a bagel out of his jacket pocket. “Babe, you were up so early, I bet you haven’t eaten. Here, I got this for you.” Seeing him carefully present the still-warm bagel, my annoyance melted away. I took it and had a bite. “It’s good, right?” he said, beaming. “I got you an everything bagel with cream cheese. They’re like, three bucks each.” Okay. So he wouldn’t spend three dollars on a scooter to be on time, but he’d spend three dollars on a bagel for me. Seeing that he was at least thoughtful, I decided to let it go. “Babe, why’d you get an Uber Black?” he asked as we got in the car. “They’re so much more expensive than a regular one. You could’ve saved that money for something else later.” “They’re cleaner and more comfortable,” I said simply. “Wow. My first time in an Uber Black is because of you. What did I ever do to deserve a girlfriend like you?” I just smiled and didn’t answer. 4 We had some time before our reservation, so we decided to stop by a Whole Foods nearby. I grabbed a cart and started tossing in my usual snacks. I also got a huge container of pre-cut watermelon. Ben’s eyes went wide as he looked at my overflowing cart. “Babe, what’s your monthly allowance? You’re buying so much stuff.” I thought for a second. “My mom gives me two thousand, and my dad usually slips me another grand. And I have a separate card for clothes and stuff.” “Whoa, you really are a sugar mama,” he said. “My parents send me two hundred bucks a month, and I make another two hundred from my work-study job. You get like, ten times what I do.” Hearing that, I felt a pang of guilt. “Hey, maybe we should just get some spicy noodles instead? I know a great place that’s super cheap and really good.” But he just waved his hand dismissively. “What’s the fun in that? I’ve never had real omakase before. Our first official date has to be special.” Since he was so insistent, I gave in. I figured I could just help him out a bit more with his expenses once we were back at school. Plus, his birthday was coming up. I could get him a really nice gift. I noticed that after a full lap of the store, he hadn’t picked out anything for himself. “Aren’t you getting anything?” I asked. “Me? Oh, okay. Thanks, babe!” Thanks for what? I quickly found out. 5 Ben went into what I can only describe as “supermarket sweep” mode. Instant ramen, energy drinks, snacks, fruit—he was throwing things into the cart like they were free. “Okay, let’s go,” he finally said. “It’s almost time for our reservation. Let’s check out.” I nodded and followed him to the register. “Is this all together?” the cashier asked. I was about to say we should split it, but Ben spoke first. “Yep, all together! Can we get two large bags, please?” “That’ll be $386.50. Who’s paying?” I glanced at Ben, who was busy bagging the groceries. I sighed. “I’ll get it.” “Would you like delivery?” the cashier asked. “Yes, plea—” “No, no, we’re good!” Ben cut me off. “We can carry it.” He immediately hoisted the two massive bags. I tugged on his sleeve, confused. “Why not get it delivered?” “Delivery costs extra, dude! And they only bring it to the campus gate. It’s better if you just Venmo me the delivery fee and I’ll carry it straight to your dorm room for you.” I just stared at him. Fine. If he wanted to carry it, let him. We were taking an Uber back anyway, it wouldn’t be that bad. “Let’s just go eat,” I said. Because of the heavy bagel I’d had earlier, I wasn’t that hungry. And since he was the one who insisted on this place, I figured if I ordered less, the bill wouldn’t be as bad for him. So I just picked three small things. “Babe, is that all you’re getting? Is that enough?” “I’m not super hungry, it’s fine.” “Are you trying to lose weight? You’re already so skinny, you don’t need to. You have to eat more. I won’t mind if you gain a little weight.” I took a sip of water, not wanting to get into it. Then I watched as Ben started ordering. Toro, uni, wagyu beef, oysters… he was ordering like someone else was paying for it. I frowned and put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Don’t order so much. We won’t be able to finish it.” He just patted his chest. “Don’t worry, I have a huge appetite. Nothing will go to waste.” He kept ordering. I just shrugged. Whatever. As long as he was happy. 6 My dishes came out first. I had ordered a small appetizer, a sushi plate, and a dessert. I had just picked up my fork to try the appetizer when Ben leaned over and scooped half of it onto his plate. “Mmm… it’s okay. Not as good as I expected.” I silently pulled the remaining half of my appetizer and my dessert closer to me. We were still in the early stages of dating; I wasn’t ready to share saliva yet. Then he started on my sushi plate. He didn’t finish a single piece. He just took one bite out of each one. “I’m just testing them for you,” he said, chewing loudly. “They’re all different flavors.” He kept chewing. “Okay, this one’s good. I only took a little bite, you can have the rest. This one’s mediocre, don’t eat it, I’ll finish it for you.” I watched this horror show, my brows furrowed so deep you could lose a coin in them. “You know what,” I said, “you can just have it all. I’m not really in the mood for rice anymore. I’ll just order something else.” “See, this is what I’m talking about. You order food and then you don’t eat it. If I wasn’t here, it would all go to waste. A boyfriend’s job is basically to be a human garbage disposal. You can’t be this wasteful when I’m not around. Or, you could just pack up your leftovers for me.” He was still talking while eating my sushi. A single grain of rice flew out of his mouth and landed in my appetizer. I felt my stomach turn. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Nothing. I just need to use the restroom.” 7 I stayed in the bathroom for a while, texting my best friend a play-by-play of the disaster date. I wasn’t even sure what I was complaining about, but the whole day just felt… off. When I came back, the table in front of Ben was a war zone of empty plates. I sat down and just watched him eat. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked. “Not enough? Here, have some of mine, I ordered a ton.” I quickly shook my head. “No, you eat. I’m really not hungry.” He nodded and went back to chewing, still talking with his mouth full. “I thought food this expensive would be mind-blowing, but it’s just… whatever.” “You really need to eat more. You can’t just starve yourself to be skinny, you’ll ruin your health. It’s not worth it.” “Look at you. You ordered three things and you only had one bite of that appetizer. If I wasn’t here, it would all be wasted. That’s not a good habit, you know. My mom always told me food is precious and we can’t waste it. You should be grateful to have me.” “Haha, you’re right,” I said, trying to subtly lean away from him so he wouldn’t spray food on me. Finally, after another ten agonizing minutes, he was done. “Okay, let’s pay and head back to campus.” “Sounds good,” I said. “You go ahead and get the check, I’m just going to use the restroom.” He stood up. “Waiter, check please!” he called out, and then headed for the bathroom. The waiter came over. “Hello, your total is $450.78. How will you be paying?” Even with my complete lack of dating experience, I knew something was very wrong. Who goes on a date and then conveniently has to go to the bathroom the second the bill arrives? I had just spent over three hundred dollars at the grocery store, and this meal, of which I’d had exactly one bite, was even more. I thought about it and got angry. I had told him we could go somewhere cheaper. He was the one who insisted on coming here. And he had the nerve to pull this stunt after I paid for all his groceries. No way was I paying for this meal. A text from Ben popped up on my phone: “My stomach’s a mess, might be in here for a while. You can just wait for me at a coffee shop or something.” I didn’t reply. I turned to the waiter. “Actually, I’m still hungry. Could you move me to a different table? I’d like to order some more things, and then you can bring one check for everything.” “Of course,” the waiter said. I thought for a second. “You know what, on second thought, can I just get it to go?” I ordered a bunch of my favorite dishes. By the time the waiter brought out the takeout bags, the Uber I’d called for campus delivery was pulling up. “Can you take these bags of food and those two grocery bags to the south campus gate? A campus delivery driver will meet you there.” “You got it,” the driver said. With everything settled, I clapped my hands together and turned to leave. The waiter hurried over to stop me. “Ma’am, with the takeout order, the new total is $631.24. Uh…” I raised an eyebrow. “The gentleman I was with is paying. He’s in the restroom.” I then yelled toward the bathroom. “Ben, I’m thirsty, I’m gonna go grab a coffee!” A voice immediately called back from inside. “Go ahead, babe! I’ll be right out!” I looked at the waiter. He nodded. “Right this way, ma’am.” And I walked out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385224”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At the opening gala for the new exhibition, a notification popped up from my husband’s social media—a post he’d hidden from my feed. “May my muse astonish the world.” The girl in the photo was wearing my missing “Morning Star” brooch, a bespoke piece. Just then, a spotlight flared to life on stage, and the host’s voice boomed through the hall. “Please welcome the brilliant emerging artist, Luna Jiang!” It was the girl from the photo. I smiled, snapped a picture of the stage, and sent it to my husband, Warwick. “If I reported a theft, how many years do you think she’d get?” As I hit send, a bank of camera flashes illuminated the side of the stage. My husband, Warwick Vance, was standing there, his gaze fixed on the woman in the spotlight with an expression of pure adoration. I walked straight up to him. “Warwick, darling,” I said, my smile unwavering. “Fancy seeing you here.” … The moment our eyes met, the tender smile on Warwick’s face froze. I acted as if I hadn’t noticed a thing, my voice laced with concern. “You look so pale, Warwick. Are you not feeling well?” Mr. Davies, the gallery director, approached us just then, his eyes darting between us. “Ms. Sterling, you and Mr. Vance know each other?” He gestured toward Warwick, his tone full of admiration. “Mr. Vance here is the new honorary director of our gallery! We have him to thank for funding both our young artist sponsorship program and the complete overhaul of our security systems. We’ve even named the east wing ‘The Vance Light’ in his honor.” Mr. Davies beamed at Warwick. “Mr. Vance, if you had told us you were coming tonight, we would have arranged the head seat for you!” He must not have heard the intimate way I’d said Warwick’s name. My lips curved into a smile as I looped my arm through Warwick’s rigid one. “Oh, we’re more than just acquainted, Mr. Davies.” “We’re legally married.” I tilted my head, my smile never faltering. “Right, darling?” A tremor ran through Warwick’s arm. He managed a strained smile. “I was just passing by and saw there was an event, so I thought I’d drop in. I didn’t want to disturb anyone.” He brushed past the director’s question, his voice low as he introduced me. “This is my wife, Kathy Sterling.” His eyes flickered away, unable to meet mine. I didn’t expose his pathetic lie on the spot. Instead, I turned my attention to the stage, feigning admiration. “Mr. Davies, who was Miss Jiang’s mentor? Her work has such a spark.” At the mention of her name, the director became effusive. “Luna? A true prodigy. An incredible talent from a very humble background. She’s the rising star we have the highest hopes for. Mr. Vance was the one who discovered her—her patron. He not only brought her to our attention but has provided immense support to the gallery on her behalf.” I nodded slightly, listening in silence. As the evening wound down, Mr. Davies eagerly led Luna over to us. “Luna, come and meet the esteemed Kathy Sterling! Ms. Sterling is the one who established our ‘Voyager Fund’ for new artists.” He added with a chuckle, “What a coincidence that your patron is Ms. Sterling’s husband.” Luna greeted me respectfully, her words a perfect blend of awe for me and gratitude for Warwick. She projected an image of humility and fragility, but I could see the calculating assessment—and the hostility—she couldn’t quite hide in her eyes. My gaze settled on the brooch pinned to her dress. “Miss Jiang,” I began, my voice soft, “for someone from such a humble background, how can you afford a custom piece from ‘Morning Star’?” I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “It’s a remarkable coincidence. It looks almost identical to a one-of-a-kind piece I lost a while ago.” The color drained from Luna’s face. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Warwick. He gave her a sharp, warning glare. She immediately lowered her head, her voice a small, wounded whisper. “The brooch… I made it myself, a replica from design sketches using cheaper materials. The diamonds are just crystals. It may be a fake, but I wanted the presentation of my work to be perfect.” I didn’t press further. I just turned to Warwick and gave him a slow, meaningful smile. “Darling, I was particularly fond of that brooch. If I find out some sticky-fingered thief made off with it, I’ll make them pay dearly.” Warwick’s face was a thundercloud. He seized my wrist, his grip tight, his voice strained. “Kathy. It’s time to go home.” 2 The heavy front door clicked shut behind us. I turned, my eyes cold steel. “Warwick, you had better have a damn good explanation.” He rushed forward, his words tumbling out. “Kathy, I swear, there’s nothing between us! The girl is incredibly talented, but she comes from nothing. It was just… a moment of weakness for a promising artist…” I cut him off with a scornful laugh. “Sponsoring her when she was a minor? Fine. But she’s twenty now, perfectly capable of standing on her own two feet.” “Starting next month, you will pay only the gallery’s basic contract fee. Not a single cent more for materials. I’ll have Mr. Davies arrange an assistant’s position for her at the gallery; it won’t interfere with her creative work.” I stared directly at him, laying out my terms, one by one. “You will cut off all contact with her. That includes the sponsorship. From now on, the money will be transferred directly from my personal account to the gallery.” “And,” my gaze intensified, “everything you’ve given her—the brooch, anything else—will be returned. In its original condition. If Luna Jiang wants to be a high-minded artist, she can stop acting like a canary in a gilded cage.” A storm of emotions crossed Warwick’s face before he finally slumped in defeat and nodded. He turned and walked away without another word. Years ago, the Vance family, desperate for a foothold in the cultural sector, had sent their meticulously groomed heir to me. He was refined, tasteful, and elegant. Though I had little interest in romance, I saw the value in a power merger and agreed to the marriage. After we married, we discovered a shared passion for the arts and enjoyed several years of genuine harmony. Though the passion had faded recently, we remained respectful partners. I understood that all marriages eventually settle into a quiet routine, but I would never, ever tolerate betrayal. The next day, as promised, Warwick returned with everything. The ‘Morning Star’ brooch lay nestled in its velvet box on the table before me. “Kathy, I’ve made it clear to her. We won’t have any more contact,” he vowed, his tone earnest. Seeing his compliance, the fire in my chest cooled slightly. I said nothing more. The moment Warwick left, a friend request popped up on my phone. It was from Luna. I was wondering how she got my contact information when a second request came through. Assuming it was about the sponsorship, I accepted, ready to handle it professionally. Before I could type a single word, my screen was flooded with her messages. “Ms. Sterling, don’t you think you’re overreaching? You’re nothing but a parasitic vine living off your husband’s capital.” “By what right do you take back the gifts Mr. Vance gave me?” “He paid for them with his own money! He can give them to whomever he wants!” “You call yourself a great curator? What kind of power trip is this, crushing a young artist like me?” I read the defiant words, a cold smile spreading across my lips. Not a delicate flower, then. A venomous little snake with fangs. I typed back slowly. “Warwick and I are legally married. Our assets are shared. It is my right to spend his money. But every cent he spent on you is marital property. If I wanted to, I could sue you for malicious appropriation and make you pay back every last penny, with interest.” “Miss Jiang, is this how an artist who depends on sponsorship speaks to her patron? I suggest you learn your place. It wasn’t easy to claw your way out of some backwater village into the city. Don’t throw it all away.” “I’ll let this slide as youthful impulsiveness. But if there is a next time, your contract and your assistant position will be gone.” The chat window went silent. She didn’t reply. I didn’t give it another thought. I’d seen countless girls like her, trying to climb the social ladder on their backs. They rarely end well. 3 Just then, my mother called. “Kathy, darling, your grandmother misses you. Can you come to the estate for a visit soon?” Grandmother’s health had been declining for years, and Warwick and I made a point to visit whenever we could. With my latest exhibition just wrapped up, my schedule was clear. “Of course,” I said cheerfully. “Warwick and I will come together.” The night before our trip, however, Warwick called. “Kathy, I’m so sorry. There’s an urgent merger at the company. I have to fly to Zurich immediately. I won’t be able to go with you.” His voice was thick with apology. “I’ve already prepared the nutritional supplements for Grandmother, don’t forget to take them. I promise I’ll make time to see her as soon as this project is over.” Work had always been our priority. “Alright,” I said, understanding. Back at the family estate, I was strolling with Grandmother through the nearby botanical gardens when she suddenly pointed into the distance. “Kathy, look. Doesn’t that man look a bit like Warwick?” My heart sank. I followed her gaze. It was him. Even from the back, I recognized the cashmere coat from the photo he’d sent me that morning. Beside him, Luna Jiang leaned in affectionately as they stood before easels, seemingly sketching the scenery. I forced the rage down, laughing lightly. “Grandmother, your eyesight is getting worse. He’s on a business trip in Zurich. How could he possibly be here? The wind is picking up, let’s go sit in the teahouse up ahead.” Once I had Grandmother settled, I sent my live location to Warwick. Then I called him. “Warwick. You have three minutes. Get here now.” His voice on the other end was surprised. “Kathy? What are you doing nearby?” I laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “I should be asking you that. Aren’t you supposed to be in Zurich?” He stammered. “Luna… she was having creative block, and today is her birthday, so I brought her out for some inspiration…” “Shut up,” I snapped. “Get to the location I sent you. Immediately.” He refused outright. “Kathy, I’m the one who brought her here. I can’t just abandon her. You and Grandmother go on ahead. I’ll explain everything when I get back tonight.” “Warwick, if you are not here in three minutes, you will face the consequences.” Before I could finish, he hung up. When I tried to call back, his phone was off. A moment later, Luna’s social media feed updated. [Someone said they’d block out the whole world just to look at the scenery with me~] The accompanying photo was of Warwick’s back as he held a delicate paper umbrella over her head. I was trembling with fury. I opened my chat with Luna. “Have Warwick call me back in the next three minutes, or you will both regret it.” The message was met with silence. Three minutes passed. Nothing. I didn’t hesitate. I called my assistant. “Terminate all cooperation with Luna Jiang. Immediately.” Then, I screenshotted Luna’s post and uploaded it to my own account. [Husband lies about a business trip to take his sponsored student on a ‘creative retreat,’ then blocks his wife’s calls. Thoughts?] The post exploded. [What is happening? Isn’t Mr. Vance supposed to be the perfect doting husband? Is this real?] My feed blew up with comments and shares. Soon, Warwick’s name was flashing on my screen, call after call. I declined and blocked his number. The next morning, Warwick’s parents dragged him to my door. The second they were inside, his father’s foot shot out, kicking him hard. “You disgraceful whelp! You’ve dragged the Vance family name through the mud!” His mother, trembling with rage, slapped him squarely across the face. They continued to berate and hit him right in front of me. When they had vented enough, his mother turned to me, her tone shifting. “Kathy, Warwick was just momentarily foolish. There’s really nothing going on with that girl. Don’t take it to heart.” His father kicked him again. “Get on your knees and apologize to Kathy!” Warwick dropped to his knees with a thud. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. “Kathy, I was wrong. I swear I’ll never contact her again. Please, just forgive me this once.” Looking at his pathetic state and the sincerity in his eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to throw away our entire relationship. 4 I sighed, my voice heavy. “Warwick, this is the last time.” As a show of his resolve, Warwick deleted all of Luna’s contact information right then and there. In the following days, he came home on time every evening. He even started learning to cook to please me. Our relationship seemed to return to the warmth of our early years. I believed the chapter with Luna was closed, and I threw myself into preparing for my studio’s annual exhibition. After countless sleepless nights perfecting the new series, everything was finally ready. I told my team the official opening was in three days and sent them home to rest. The next morning, Faye, one of my signed artists, called me. “Kathy… I… I’ve been replaced.” I was stunned. “But the exhibition isn’t for two more days.” Faye’s voice broke. “Mr. Vance… he moved the opening to today!” My mind went blank. I grabbed my car keys and bolted out the door. When I arrived at the gallery, Warwick was on stage, confidently answering questions from the press. And standing beside him, glowing under the lights, was Luna Jiang. The paintings hanging behind her were Faye’s new series—the work she had poured her heart and soul into. Shaking with rage, I stormed the stage. “Warwick! What is the meaning of this?” He flinched when he saw me, a flicker of panic in his eyes, but he quickly composed himself. “Kathy, Faye wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t make it. I asked Luna to fill in at the last minute.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Faye emerged from the crowd. “I am not sick! Mr. Vance’s secretary informed me that I had been replaced!” A wave of murmurs swept through the audience. I pointed at Luna, my voice dripping with ice. “Take down her paintings and get her out of here. This is my exhibition. Who the hell is she to display the work of an artist from my studio?” Tears welled up in Luna’s eyes. “Ms. Sterling, I didn’t know anything about this, please, don’t do this to me…” Warwick pulled her behind him protectively. “Kathy, this was my decision. Don’t take it out on Luna!” I laughed coldly. “Warwick, you’ve crossed every line for her. This project was my baby, and now you’re interfering with this, too? Have you forgotten how you knelt and swore to me?” Luna’s sobs grew louder as she clutched Warwick’s sleeve. “Mr. Vance, please don’t fight with Ms. Sterling because of me… It’s all my fault. I’m just not worthy of your kindness…” Seeing her tear-streaked face, Warwick glared at me. “Kathy, this project might be your work, but it belongs to my company! As the president, what’s wrong with me replacing one artist?” Before I could argue, he cut me off, his voice rising in accusation. “You’re too controlling! You cut off her funding over something so trivial and had the gallery suspend her work! You even hired people to harass her! She’s just a child, fresh out of school, and you’ve pushed her to the brink of a depressive relapse! I wouldn’t be helping her if it weren’t for that! I’m cleaning up your mess!” I was so furious I laughed. “My mess? Warwick, you’re a master of self-deception! How dare you be so self-righteous about your affair!” His nerve was struck. He flushed with anger. “Kathy, if you cause any more trouble, I will have you removed from your position immediately! You can be a stay-at-home wife!” CRACK! I had reached my limit. I slapped him, hard. He clutched his cheek, his face dark with fury, and called for security. “Get these two crazy women out of here! Don’t let them ruin the exhibition!” Faye and I were brutally dragged out of the gallery. Staring at the closed doors, I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I took out my phone and dialed the director of my family’s investment group. “Immediately cease all investment in Vance Industries and sever all partnerships. Recall all our personnel. Three days. I want Warwick Vance to have nothing left.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385240”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was being brought back to the family home, and the girl who had taken my place was dying. My parents never left her side. My brother blamed me for coming back and upsetting her. My husband was her doctor, and even in the middle of our cold, mechanical lovemaking, he would leave at the sound of her voice. I had tolerated her, made excuses for her, given way to her every whim. But this time was different. She had pushed me down the stairs on our wedding anniversary, on purpose. As they loaded me into the ambulance, my husband was still defending her. “She’s just a kid, Nora. Don’t be mad at her. She’ll feel so guilty.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry. I’ll save you. You’re going to be fine.” Then his voice hardened slightly. “But after this, you need to think about your own actions. You’re so healthy. You shouldn’t be flaunting it in front of her, upsetting her like that.” He was my surgeon. He put in a few sloppy stitches, then rushed off to comfort the crying imposter my family had called him to see. And in that moment, something inside me finally broke. “I’m in so much pain,” I told the System. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. I want to go home.” In seven days, I would die from a massive hemorrhage caused by his shoddy surgical work. And they would have to live with the regret for the rest of their lives. * 1 No one came to pick me up from the hospital. After waiting for hours, I finally sent a message to the family group chat, letting them know I was being discharged. A long time passed. Half a day. Finally, a notification. It was my brother, Leo. Leo: K. That was it. Silence. Ten agonizing minutes later, my phone buzzed again. It was my mother. Mom: Nora, sweetie… can you find your own way home? We’re a little tied up right now. Then, a message from *her*. From Ivy. Ivy: Oh, Nora, don’t bother them! They just got back from taking me on vacation. They’re exhausted from the flight, and we have to go to the hospital for my check-up. And then, a message from my husband, Dr. Julian Vance. Julian: Nora, I’m Ivy’s doctor. I’m responsible for her follow-up. I can’t take the day off. Just grab a cab. Call me if you need anything. I had typed out a message: *Can just one of you please come get me?* I stared at the words on the screen, then deleted them, one by one. I knew the truth. When it came to me versus Ivy, I would always be the second choice. For years, Ivy had treated her own life like a game, threatening to stop her medication one day, claiming she wanted to die the next. And Julian, my brilliant, dedicated husband, would chase after her, tirelessly pulling her back from the brink. It had become their routine. “Ivy,” he would tell her, his voice a low, intense murmur. “You’re not allowed to die on my watch. I don’t care how much you try to self-destruct. I have a thousand ways to keep you alive.” 2 That night, I was running a bath when Julian came home. I was undressing, my hand tracing the angry red line on my chest, when he wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips on the back of my neck. “Darling,” he murmured. “Still not in the shower? Were you waiting for me to wash you?” He gently turned me to face him, his fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt. “Your stitches… you shouldn’t get them wet. Let me help.” His hands stopped when he saw it. The ugly, puckered scar on my chest. I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!” He looked surprised, then chuckled, thinking I was misinterpreting his intentions. “You have a dirty mind, you know that?” he teased. “I’m not a complete animal. I’ll wait until you’re healed. Then I’ll collect my payment, with interest.” “I don’t want you to wash me,” I said, my voice flat. He raised an eyebrow. “Still mad at me? Fine. Take it out on me. But don’t blame Ivy. She’s just a kid, Nora. Don’t hold it against her. She’s so sick. She’s miserable.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, broken sound. “In case you’ve forgotten, Julian, your ‘kid’ is the exact same age as me. She’s miserable? What about me? Did it ever occur to you that when I fell down those stairs, I could have died?” He frowned. “Don’t be dramatic, darling. You’re fine. And your wound… I stitched it up myself, didn’t I?” He smiled, a flash of his old, confident charm. “You’re healthy. You’re not going to die. You just overthink things. Trust my work. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” I looked down at the jagged, uneven line of stitches and fought back tears. “You made me ugly, Julian. You know how much I hate being ugly.” He sighed, a long, weary sound. “Ivy called me right before your surgery. She was hysterical, threatening to kill herself. I had to go to her. You know that, right? I don’t regret it. If I had been one minute later, she would be dead.” He cupped my face in his hands. “And you… you need to stay away from her. Don’t provoke her. She’s already been through so much. She has a temper. She could hurt you again, and that would break my heart.” He stroked my cheek. “She’s not like you, Nora. She’s dying. She’s pitiful. Just… let her have this, okay? If you need to be angry, be angry with me. Tonight, in bed, you can punish me however you want.” He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head away. The way he was with her… it was different. And in that moment, I had nothing left to say. 3 The funny thing is, Julian and I met in college. And he was the one who fell for me first. His family was practically medical royalty. Generations of brilliant doctors, a prestigious private hospital bearing their name. And Julian was the crown prince. A child prodigy, a state scholar who went straight from his undergrad to a Ph.D. program at a top university. He was beautiful, in a cool, detached sort of way. A picture of him in his white coat went viral online. Everyone said that for a man who seemed so emotionless, he was hopelessly in love with me. They said marrying him was a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck. In college, when I dropped our promise ring in the campus lake, he dove in after it without a second thought. When I got a paper cut, he’d fuss over it for days. I used to stay up late, a bad habit that sometimes made my chest ache. He was terrified I was going to die young. At 11 PM on the dot, he’d confiscate my phone. If I protested, he’d pin me to the bed, his voice a low growl. “I heard about a method to help people sleep. It’s called… marital duties. We could try it. Or, you could be a good girl and go to sleep before I make you cry.” Once, I had to have a minor surgery. He was more nervous than I was. He held my hand before they wheeled me in, his voice soft and reassuring. “Don’t be scared. It’s just a little monster we have to fight. I’ll be right here. Always.” When we fought, he was always the first to apologize. “Nora, please talk to me. If you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy. I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.” I thought he would always choose me. As long as he chose me, I could survive in this world. But then, he became Ivy’s doctor. He didn’t care what time I went to bed anymore. He was too busy. Busy reading bedtime stories to Ivy over the phone, his voice a low, soothing murmur until she fell asleep, no matter how late it was. I’d sit next to him, watching him smile at his phone, the familiar ache in my chest a dull, constant throb. “Julian,” I’d whisper, tugging on his sleeve. “It’s late. Let’s go to sleep.” He’d press a finger to his lips. “Shh. Ivy’s not asleep yet.” And now… now he would rather I hate him than hold a grudge against her. *I don’t want to play this game anymore,* I told the System. *I want to go home.* *Are you sure, Host?* the System replied. *In this world, you have a family. A husband. If you succeed, you can stay here forever.* *I’m sure,* I said. The mission was simple. All I needed was for one person, just once, to choose me over Ivy. I had been so hopeful, so confident. I had tried so hard to please them, remembering their birthdays, their favorite foods, their little quirks. I thought if I was just sincere enough, they would love me back. But in the end, no one came. My family, my husband… they always chose her. This time, next time, every time. I think it’s time for me to go home. Back to my real home. The System sighed. *Host, when Ivy pushed you down the stairs, you sustained severe internal injuries and massive soft tissue damage. In seven days, your stitches will rupture, and you will die from a massive hemorrhage.* Just as it said, a network of pain spread through my body. I wonder, I thought, a strange sense of calm washing over me. I wonder what his face will look like when he realizes that I died from a surgery performed by his own genius hands. 4 The next morning, we were all having breakfast together. My family and my husband, all gathered around Ivy. “Mom, you won’t believe how bad Leo’s photography skills are,” she was saying, giggling. “He took hundreds of pictures of me on our trip, and only a few are usable. It’s a good thing I’m so photogenic. Anyone else would have looked terrible.” “Hey, I tried my best,” Leo said, ruffling her hair. “You’re the one who kept demanding more pictures.” Ivy was glowing, her cheeks flushed with color. I, on the other hand, looked like a ghost. Even Leo, who usually ignored me, frowned when he saw me. “Nora, you’re so pale. Are you okay?” Before I could answer, Ivy snorted. “Oh, Leo, don’t pay any attention to her. She’s always faking sick to get attention. She’s probably just being dramatic.” Julian looked at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but Ivy immediately recaptured everyone’s attention. “Ugh, pasta again? I want a burger and fries tomorrow. Freshly made!” “You know you can’t have greasy food with your heart condition,” Leo chided. Ivy stuck her tongue out. “What’s the worst that could happen? I have my own personal doctor right here. He won’t let anything bad happen to me, right?” Julian looked at her with a fond, exasperated smile. “You can have a little taste. But that’s it.” “You’re no fun,” she pouted, but it sounded more like flirting than complaining. Julian had bought a house just down the street so he could be closer to her, to monitor her condition. He designed every one of her meals himself. He placed a piece of shrimp on her plate. “Ivy, you need to listen to me. What you did to Nora was wrong. You need to apologize.” Ivy’s face fell. She slammed her chopsticks on the table. “Why should I apologize to her? She was in my way! She deserved it!” Julian didn’t get angry. He just coaxed her, his voice gentle. “Be good. Just say you’re sorry. See that apple on the table? Just hand it to her and say ‘I’m sorry.’ And then you two can make up. Nora is very understanding. She’ll forgive you.” The next thing I knew, Ivy had snatched the largest apple from the bowl and hurled it at my face. It hit me squarely in my right eye. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my head. This was their pattern. Ivy would lash out, Julian would patch me up, and the whole family would tell me not to be so lively and healthy in front of her. My good health was an insult to her sickness. “Fine!” Ivy screamed, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ll apologize! I’m sorry! I’m the one who should be sorry for being sick, for dying! I’ll just stop my medication tonight, how about that?!” In an instant, they were all hovering over her. “Silly girl, we were just teasing you,” Leo said, rubbing her back. “Don’t say such things!” my mother cried. “I can’t lose you!” “Okay, okay, no apology,” Julian said, frantically wiping her tears. “Just don’t stop your medication. Please.” It was always like this. I clutched my throbbing eye, a silent observer in my own home. Finally, Julian remembered me. “Nora,” he said, his voice strained, “I’ll put some ice on that for you later. It’ll be fine.” For a second, a flicker of hope. We had been together for five years. Maybe, just maybe, he still cared. But then he added, “Can you stop being so selfish for a minute and help me calm her down? She’s threatening to stop her medication because of you.” And just like that, the hope died. I started to laugh, a hollow, self-mocking sound. How could I have been so stupid? I stood up, my voice dripping with an icy calm I didn’t know I possessed. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll calm her down.” I looked at Ivy, my one good eye burning with a cold fire. “This is what, the third time this week? You’re all talk, Ivy. You say you want to die? You say you’re going to stop your medication? Then do it.” I leaned forward, my voice rising to a shout. “If you really want to die, then just do it!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385256”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I was in college, I was dirt poor. And I dated a guy who was richer than God. He was the undisputed king of New York’s elite, the kind of guy everyone just called by his last name, Ford. It was a love story that made no sense from any angle, and no one thought it would last. Not even him. “This is just a bit of fun,” he’d said. “Nothing serious.” So when I broke up with him, to save the last shred of my pride, I lied. I told him I’d fallen for someone else. That I didn’t want him anymore. His eyes, usually so cool and steady, burned with a furious, crimson-edged hurt. He told me if I walked out that door, I’d better not live to regret it. I never looked back. Five years later, we met again. And the man they now called the cold, untouchable head of the Ford empire cornered me on a darkened film set. “I told you to go, and you just… left?” he asked, his voice raw. “How could you be so goddamn heartless?” Then, his voice broke. “It was me. I’m the one who regrets it, Willa.” 1 The day the director announced our main investor was visiting the set, the name Landon Ford never once crossed my mind. At that moment, my back was to him as I ran lines with another actor. He was standing by the monitors, surrounded by a deferential cluster of suits, only a few feet away. A nervous lump formed in my throat. My fingers tightened on my script, the pages crinkling under the pressure, leaving deep creases. Thankfully, the producer scurried over with the film’s lead actress in tow. “Mr. Ford,” he said, his voice dripping with sycophancy, “I’d like you to meet our star. She’s one of the hottest new talents in the industry.” The woman, her makeup flawless, offered Landon a practiced, gentle smile. “Mr. Ford, we met once at a gala. I don’t know if you remember?” Landon barely glanced at her, a flicker of his eyes his only acknowledgment. He didn’t offer her a single courtesy. His gaze was locked on the monitor in front of him, his eyes dark and intense. For a split second, it was like watching a storm surge across a vast ocean, only to be swallowed by an unnerving calm. The producer, left hanging, nervously followed his line of sight to the screen. “Mr. Ford?” he ventured carefully. “Is something wrong?” A cool, thin smile touched the corner of Landon’s mouth. “No. I just saw someone I know.” The casual words, tossed out so carelessly, made the muscles in my back seize. A cold knot of panic tightened in my stomach. “Oh! An old friend on our set?” The producer’s face lit up, practically glowing with delight. “Who might that be?” In that instant, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes sweeping over the set, searching. Then, Landon’s voice, as cool and sharp as ever, cut through the air. “Her.” 2 “Her. Pippa.” The young actress standing across from me gasped. I just blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. The producer practically sprinted over, nudging me aside to enthusiastically guide Pippa toward Landon. Watching them talk, a familiarity in their exchange, the breath I’d been holding finally escaped in a silent, shaky rush. Thank God… Thank God he wasn’t talking about me. All these years had passed. An awkward reunion with an ex-boyfriend felt… not just cliché, but deeply unwelcome. Besides, they genuinely seemed to know each other. Even when Pippa, pushed in front of him, complained, “Hey, I was in the middle of running lines! What do you want?” Landon’s response was a lazy smirk. “Your brother told me to tell you to stop playing movie star and come home.” He was nothing like the short-tempered tyrant people whispered about. The producer’s beaming face was proof enough of that. Their meeting was going swimmingly. So swimmingly that when the producer and director suggested they all continue the conversation over dinner, Landon didn’t refuse. I watched their retreating backs, my body finally unclenching. I carefully smoothed out the mangled script in my hands and let out a long, slow sigh. Somehow, I’d survived the day. But just as she was about to turn the corner, Pippa glanced back over her shoulder. “Willa!” she called out, her voice bright and full of energy. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” 3 For the first time in my life, I understood what it felt like for time to freeze. When the world snapped back into focus, I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide my face. “No, thanks. You guys go ahead. I have plans tonight.” I turned and walked away, my steps hurried, almost fleeing. I had no idea if Landon had recognized me. The lighting on set was dim; maybe he hadn’t gotten a clear look. Or maybe he had, and the current version of me simply held no significance for him. Our breakup had been a spectacular, ugly mess. I had humiliated him, a man so fiercely proud, in front of everyone he knew. I had been the one to dump him, my cruelty a sharp, decisive blade that shocked everyone. But only I knew the truth. I was the one who walked away, and I was the one who cried myself empty for weeks afterward. I could still hear Landon’s voice from that day, laced with fury. “Willa, if you walk out that door today, you better not live to regret it! If I ever see you again, I swear I’ll make you pay.” I knew he was capable of it. He was capable of anything. So I grabbed my bag and ran. And I never, ever looked back. But now, five years later, we were here. I chewed on my thumbnail, a wave of cold fear washing over me. It’s been so long. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t still want revenge, would he? 4 Landon Ford had a bad temper. That was the one thing everyone who knew him could agree on. He was the heir to the Ford empire, the crown prince of New York City. It wasn’t just that his family had money and he had the looks of a fallen angel; he was brilliant, too, effortlessly acing his way through Columbia. If it weren’t for the fact that I was broke, I never would have taken that temp job as a model at a luxury car show. Our paths never would have crossed. The first time I saw Landon, it was in a private, gilded club in midtown. He was perched on a high stool, legs crossed, lazily propping his chin on one hand as he watched me interact with the host on stage. The upperclassman who’d gotten me the gig said I could make extra cash by doing a private showing for a group of rich kids after the main event. Money was the one thing that could make me bend, make my heart race. So there I was, in an ill-fitting gown and heels that pinched my feet, smiling in front of one gleaming supercar after another until my face felt like stone. I knew I was pretty. My roommates always said I had the face of an ice queen but the eyes of a lost fawn, a combination that could fool anyone who didn’t know the real me. But I had no idea how casually cruel the world of the wealthy could be. Before I had even stepped off the stage, a fleshy-faced man was leering at me, his voice slick with suggestion. “A college girl, huh? Need a little pocket money? Daddy can help with that.” My stomach turned. My face went rigid. But I needed the money, so I forced myself to pretend I hadn’t heard him. In a place like this, drowning in champagne and privilege, no one was going to help me. His comment was met with a chorus of encouraging snickers. But just as the man reached out to grab me, a chair came flying from above, crashing down on him and sending him stumbling back, blood suddenly blooming on his forehead. He clutched his head, roaring with rage at the second-floor balcony. “What the hell? Who the fuck threw that? You got a death wish?” That’s when Landon descended the staircase. He casually stubbed out a cigarette, his eyes sweeping the room through the haze of smoke before they finally landed on me, tucked away in the corner. He turned his cold gaze back to the bleeding man. “That would be your daddy,” he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. I remember my heart pounding, terrified they were about to get into a bloody fight because of me. But the man, who had been so aggressive and menacing moments before, underwent a bizarre transformation. He saw Landon, and a strained, anxious smile stretched across his face. He started wringing his hands, bowing his head. “A misunderstanding! A complete misunderstanding!” he stammered. “Mr. Ford, it was all a mistake!” He looked like a terrifying, life-sized bobblehead. It was both pathetic and deeply frightening. It was in that moment I understood. The title “crown prince” wasn’t just some nickname his friends had cooked up. And it was the first time I saw his temper, raw and unfiltered. He completely ignored the man’s frantic apologies. He simply nodded to his friends, and they broke the man’s arm—the same one he had reached out to touch me with. Afterward, Landon leaned back against a chair, lit another cigarette, and pressed the sole of his shoe onto the man’s head. “Try to keep the gutter trash in your head from now on,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Otherwise, I might have to consider helping your family line end with you.” 5 A cold night wind swept through the lot. I waited, calculating how long a fancy dinner might last, before finally grabbing a jacket and stepping out of my trailer. The set was quiet for once, a rare lull before the night shoot began. I started down the familiar path toward the little diner I always went to. As I rounded a corner, I saw a silhouette standing in the moonlit path ahead. At first, I assumed it was a crew member returning from a break. But as I drew closer, a sense of unease made me slow my steps. There, under the bright, cold moon, stood Landon. Dressed in all black, he almost blended into the shadows. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers. He looked up through the rising smoke, his eyes meeting mine across the narrow path. Those eyes, dark and sharp as ink. They were exactly the same as the night we first met. … 6 The wind whispered through the trees. The world around us was utterly silent. My feet felt rooted to the spot. I turned, intending to walk away. “You’re an actress on this film?” Landon’s voice stopped me. My body tensed. “…Yes,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. “What’s your role?” “The third lead.” “Going to dinner?” “Yes.” “You know who I am?” “Yes.” The film’s primary investor. The man who held our jobs in the palm of his hand. His rapid-fire questions made my palms sweat. I had no idea what he wanted, what his game was. Before I could process it, another question came. “Are you afraid of me?” … “No.” “Then why are you looking at the ground?” “The wind… it’s strong.” He let out a low, soft chuckle, his voice a little rough. “You remind me of someone I used to know.” My heart hammered against my ribs. My throat went dry. “Is that so? I guess that’s a compliment. I’ve been told I have one of those familiar faces.” “I suppose,” he mused. “In your line of work, looking like someone else is practically a job requirement.” I had nothing to say to that, so I just nodded slightly. Silence fell between us again. I watched him light another cigarette. The smoke curled from his fingertips, coiling in the air like something dangerous, barely contained. A chill ran down my spine. That 불안, that deep-seated anxiety, returned. I couldn’t figure out the point of this conversation. I’d been in the entertainment industry for three years. While I’d certainly changed from the girl I was in college, I wasn’t a completely different person. But in the dim light, with his cryptic words hanging in the air, I couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t recognize me, or if, to a man like him, I was simply someone not worth remembering. In the end, it didn’t matter which it was. We were not in a position to be having this kind of late-night heart-to-heart. I pulled my jacket tighter against the cold. “Mr. Ford,” I said, my voice muffled. “I have a night shoot soon. If you’ll excuse me.” I started to step around him, my head down. “Willa Hayes.” His voice stopped me cold. My heart dropped into my stomach.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385272”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother has a saying. “If you’re willing to work hard, you’ll have an endless supply of hard work.” A girl, she insisted, should be lazy. Because the lazier you are, the happier you’ll be. So, I took her advice to heart. Even when I found out I was the villainess in a novel, I couldn’t be bothered to care. So long as I remained perfectly idle, fate couldn’t keep up with me. 1 The heroine, Claire Jensen, was a scholarship student who had just transferred to our elite academy. The day she set foot on campus, the novel’s main plot officially began. Within a single day, she had a “chance” encounter with both the school’s academic prodigy and its resident bad boy, making both of them fall head over heels for her. This, of course, caused an absolute firestorm on the school’s online forums. Why? Because said prodigy and bad boy were universally acknowledged as the two most handsome guys at the academy. They also happened to be two of my potential fiancés. My mother is obscenely wealthy. My family has been rolling in money for generations. By the time it got to me, I was a legacy heiress many times over. As my mother puts it, “Don’t go looking for trouble when there is none.” Our family had reached the point where money simply made more money all by itself. As long as we had cash, there were plenty of talented people to manage it. My biggest contribution to the family legacy was to simply stay alive and spend it. To that end, my mother had scouted several ridiculously good-looking candidates for my future husband. Among them were the two boys Claire had just ensnared: Aidan Cross, the academic prodigy, and Jax Ryder, the school’s untamable king. While neither of them stirred any particular hormonal response in me, I could certainly appreciate their aesthetic value. It’s only human to admire beautiful things. But it was clear now that neither of them was ever meant to be mine. In my own world, I was the flawless protagonist, born with a silver spoon, destined for a life of leisure. In the world of the novel, I was the villainess, destined to orchestrate my own downfall. Even my family’s fortune was fated to be squandered by my foolish schemes, all leading to a tragic end where the hero and heroine lived happily ever after, while I was left destitute and alone. A classic end for a villainess, I suppose. Realizing this only reinforced my mother’s wisdom. If I was lazy enough, I couldn’t possibly stir up enough trouble to ruin my family. Claire herself was a brilliant student; her academic prowess was the only reason she’d gotten into a school like this. The academy had waived her tuition, covered all her fees, and provided a full scholarship just to recruit her. Her new deskmate was currently buzzing in her ear, dishing out the latest gossip. “Cassia Thorne. She’s the school’s official queen bee. A total heiress. Her mom is the biggest shareholder of this academy. Even those two gods you met, Aidan and Jax? They’re on her list of potential fiancés.” “Wow,” the deskmate sighed. “That’s literally a power fantasy life.” Hearing them, I silently agreed. It was a power fantasy life. Claire frowned for a split second before smoothing her features into a placid mask. “It is,” she said calmly. “But I think a life you build through your own hard work is more meaningful. Like the satisfaction I get from my studies.” I couldn’t see her micro-expressions, but she wasn’t wrong. Some people have to pour 100% of their effort into chasing that 1% opportunity. If they succeed, they rise above everyone else. But I wasn’t one of them. I was the opportunity. Others vied for my favor, hoping I’d open the door to success for them. 2 That single piece of gossip was enough to tell me Claire was no simple damsel. She had her own agenda. A black lotus, not a white one. She’d come to this academy with a purpose: to find a shortcut. And in a school for the elite, there was no shortage of wealthy targets. Aidan Cross was her first. It seems the villainess and the heroine are always fated to clash. Aidan was making his daily, unwavering attempt to curry favor with me when Claire “accidentally” stumbled, sending her drink flying. It splashed all over him. A perfect, even coating—not a single spot on his clothes, pants, or shoes was spared. I was marveling at her technique when Claire’s panicked voice cut through the air. “Oh my god, I am so, so sorry! I’ll pay for it, I promise…” Is the next line ‘Can I get your number’?, I wondered. As if on cue, she said, “Scan my code, I’ll transfer you the money.” My eyes widened. That was so cliché. Surely Aidan wouldn’t fall for that? He couldn’t, right? Apparently, the power of the plot was absolute. Smitten at first sight, Aidan whipped out his phone and scanned her code as if in a trance. The whole process was a blur, as if he was terrified she’d disappear if he moved too slow. Seriously? Like he was short on cash? I didn’t buy it. This was his libido doing the thinking. Fine. He was officially off the list. I immediately pulled out my phone and texted my mother. Me: [Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, I trust you are well.] Mom: [Spit it out.] Me: [Aidan Cross is bad news. Pull our investments.] Mom: [emoji: Thumbs-up] I could be too lazy to deal with Claire directly, but I couldn’t let a scumbag slide. Besides, tattling was a skill I had perfected since childhood. Since Aidan was out of the running, he no longer deserved the benefits of my family’s resources. At that exact moment, the Cross family’s company received notifications that several core projects were being defunded. Key partnerships were severed with lightning speed. The Cross Corporation’s stock plummeted, a sea of red that would make any investor panic. Old Mr. Cross was so shocked he nearly had a heart attack. A flurry of calls came to our house. My mother’s reply was breezy and devastating. “That Aidan boy… his attention seems to wander. Cassia finds it all a bit tiring. We wouldn’t want to hold him back.” Once the Cross family understood the situation, they dragged Aidan home for a “discussion.” The scene was reportedly spectacular, with his father chasing him around the mansion with a golf club. It was only Old Mr. Cross’s soft spot for his grandson that stopped the carnage. When I saw Aidan a few days later, he had two black eyes. He finally looked like a real academic—the kind who gets beaten up. 3 In those few days, Claire and Aidan had become inseparable, like old friends who could talk about anything and everything. The way Aidan looked at Claire was filled with a gratitude for being “understood,” a sappy “you’re the only one in the world who gets me” kind of emotion. In other words, he was in love. From his perspective, my actions were nothing short of tyrannical, a rich girl using her family’s money to tear apart true love. Of course, Claire saw it the same way. She confronted me, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Cassia Thorne, you’ve gone too far!” She stood in the center of the classroom, a small crowd of gossip-mongers gathering around her. “Just because Aidan added me as a contact, you used your family’s power to crush him? To crush his entire family? You’re trampling on people’s dignity with money! You can’t control feelings with finances! Aidan is his own person, not some toy you can chain with your wealth.” Her voice rose with passion. “I know your family is powerful, but that doesn’t give you the right to do whatever you want. True happiness doesn’t come from tearing others down. This just makes you look pathetic.” The room fell silent. All eyes were on me—curious, searching, with a hint of schadenfreude. Aidan stood behind Claire, his lips pressed into a thin line, saying nothing. I slowly lifted my gaze to meet the impassioned heroine. “Oh,” I said. Claire was clearly not expecting such a flat, almost dismissive response. The long, scathing speech she had prepared got stuck in her throat. Her face turned beet red. “You… you just say ‘oh’?” she stammered in disbelief. “Mmmhmm,” I nodded, leaning back in my chair to find a more comfortable position. “Are you done? Does your throat hurt? Want some water?” I gestured to the cheap, well-worn plastic cup on her desk. Claire: “…” The other students: “…” Aidan: “…” “Cassia! You’re humiliating me!” Claire trembled with rage. “No, I’m not,” I said, my face a mask of innocence. I even let out a small, sleepy yawn. “I’m just stating facts. Pulling the investment was a standard business decision. Aidan’s behavior made the Cross Corporation a high-risk investment in my eyes. It was just a matter of cutting our losses. It’s just business, you know? Perfectly normal.” I spread my hands, a gesture that said, What’s the big deal? Aidan tugged on Claire’s sleeve, signaling her to stop. In his mind, if she could rally the students against me, great. But if she couldn’t, pushing it further would only hurt his own interests. So he switched sides. “Claire, stop. It’s my fault. I’m the one who made Cassia angry. She has every right to be mad at me.” Claire’s face went pale with fury. The first man she’d set her sights on was a spineless, opportunistic coward. Here she was, a woman fighting his battles for him, and there he was, a man hiding behind her, ready to betray her the second the tide turned. Screw him. She spun around and slapped him. The sharp crack of the impact made everyone gasp. Claire ran out of the room. Aidan, on instinct, chased after her. How they made up after that was none of my business. All I knew was, the plot had definitely gone off-script. 4 After patching things up with Claire, Aidan came crawling back to me. It was then I started to wonder—weren’t brainy types supposed to be simple-minded? How was this one so good at scheming? Jax Ryder blocked his path. An ugly expression crossed Aidan’s face. “Jax, what’s the meaning of this?” Jax sneered. “You know exactly what it means. You’re out. Stay off my turf.” Aidan threw a punch, but Jax caught his fist mid-air. “You need to hit the gym, little man,” Jax mocked. Aidan’s face turned ashen with rage, and he stormed off. Claire watched the entire exchange, her eyes gleaming. Perhaps Jax was a better choice. He seemed to have more backbone than Aidan. And stealing him away from Cassia Thorne… what a sweet victory that would be. Besides, Aidan’s family was on the decline, and he’d become stingy. Good thing she hadn’t officially become his girlfriend, or she’d have lost out. It was always better to have options. With that thought, Claire made her move. “Jax, do you remember me? We met on the first day of school,” she said, a blush coloring her cheeks. Jax turned, his brow furrowing when he saw her. “What do you want?” Claire lowered her gaze, exposing the pale, slender line of her neck. “I envy Cassia for having a friend like you. I… I’d like to be your friend, too. Would that be okay?” My jaw dropped. That was her big move? Such a clumsy, uncomfortable attempt at flirting. Was this really the heroine of this world? What kind of messed-up story was this? Couldn’t they have picked a normal one? Was Jax going to fall for it? Was the plot going to hijack his brain and make him fall stupidly in love, too? I shot him a worried look. To be honest, I had invested a lot of energy in Jax. I was self-aware enough to know I was at that age where a bad boy was exactly my type. Jax looked Claire up and down. “The new transfer student?” A spark of delight lit up Claire’s eyes. He remembered her! “Yes! My name is Claire Jensen. You remember me?” At this, I was ready to give up. So, Jax was destined to be hers, too? My gaze on him instantly turned hostile. I had found Jax in an orphanage. Well, “found” wasn’t quite the right word; we went through all the proper legal channels. To prevent any future claims on the family fortune, we set him up with his own legal identity. But everything he had, everything he was, I had given him. I was young then, and I liked playing house. My mother, indulging me, took me to an orphanage to pick out a playmate. I chose Jax. And just like that, he was lifted into the upper echelons of society. His only job was to manage my emotions. As long as I was happy, he would continue to have everything. For years, I had treated him like a character in a simulation game, investing time and money, leveling him up. He had grown more and more impressive, more and more to my liking, just waiting for me to decide to harvest my prize. And now, someone was trying to snatch him away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385288”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The Mercedes was gone. My heels clicked on the polished concrete of the garage, the sound echoing in the empty space where the G-Wagon should have been. “Susan?” I called out, walking into the house. “Did you see where the Mercedes went?” The housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, was lounging on my custom-made Italian leather sofa, shelling pistachios. The television blared a daytime talk show, and she didn’t bother to look away from the screen when I walked in. “My son took his girlfriend out for the day,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were talking about the weather. “It’s hard to get around without a car. You weren’t using it, so I told him to go ahead.” I stared at her, at the discarded pistachio shells scattered on the floor around her. “You let your son take my car?” “You have other cars,” she said, finally turning to look at me, her expression one of mild annoyance, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “And you hardly ever drive that one. Better to let Derek get some use out of it than let it just sit there collecting dust.” She tossed another shell onto the pile. “He’ll even put gas in it for you. See? He’s practically doing you a favor. Cars fall apart when you don’t drive them.” My jaw tightened. “I want you to call your son. I want him to bring my car back. You have two hours.” She sighed, a heavy, put-upon sound. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re all the way downtown. It’s not convenient for them to come back now. Don’t be so stingy.” I didn’t say another word. I turned, walked straight to my bedroom, closed the door, and dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “My name is Kate Holloway. I need to report a stolen vehicle.” Less than half an hour later, a frantic pounding erupted on my bedroom door. “Kate! Open this door right now! You get out here!” Mrs. Evans shrieked, her voice raw with fury. “You have the guts to call the cops on my son, but not the guts to open this door? Get out here, you little bitch!” 1 This woman, Susan Evans, had become a tyrant in my own home. Her audacity was breathtaking. I’d overlooked her earlier transgressions, chalking them up to cultural differences or a lack of professional boundaries. I had even tried to gently remind her of her role, to suggest that she refrain from commenting on my personal life. She hadn’t listened. If anything, my polite requests had only emboldened her. She’d started treating my deference as weakness, my home as her own, and my life as a project she needed to manage. She began speaking to me not as an employer, but as a disapproving, overbearing mother-in-law I never asked for. It started small. Expensive cheeses and bottles of wine disappearing from the fridge. Then came the constant, unsolicited advice. She’d sneer at my takeout containers, telling me I’d never find a husband if I didn’t learn to cook. She’d leave sinks full of dishes and patches of dusty floor for me to clean when I got home from a twelve-hour workday, clucking her tongue about my “laziness.” The absurdity peaked last week. Her daughter was coming for a visit, and because my house is in a gated community a good forty-five minutes from the city, she demanded that I leave work early, pick her daughter up from the train station, and stop at the gourmet market for fresh lobster on the way home. “Cindy just loves lobster,” she’d said, “and I’m going to make her my special bisque.” Even my own health routines became her property. I’d ask her to prepare my morning collagen drink, and she’d make two—one for me, and one for herself. Mine would be the plain powder dissolved in water. Hers would be a concoction brimming with organic berries, manuka honey, and goji powder from my pantry. When I asked why mine was so spartan, she’d replied, with no hint of shame, “You only asked for the collagen. You didn’t say to add anything else.” The final straw before the car had been the truffle oil. A friend had brought me an incredibly rare, expensive bottle of white truffle oil back from a trip to Italy. I came home one day to find her complaining of a stomach ache. The bottle of oil, nearly full the day before, was almost empty. She didn’t apologize. She blamed me. “You shouldn’t keep things that are so rich in the house. It’s not good for people.” And now this. Handing the keys to my $150,000 vehicle to her son so he could impress his girlfriend. I’d only noticed because the garage door was left wide open when I pulled in tonight, a gaping invitation to any opportunist in the neighborhood. The moment I saw the empty space, I knew she was behind it. Forget the sheer entitlement—think of the liability. If her son, Derek, got into an accident, if he hurt someone, I was the registered owner. I would be the one sued. If he couldn’t pay, the financial and legal fallout would land squarely on me. I had tried to be reasonable. I had planned to just demand the car back and let it go. But her attitude when I walked in—lounging on my sofa like she owned the place, the floor littered with her mess—ignited a cold fury in me. A housekeeper, a professional, should at the very least stand up when her employer gets home. She should ask if I’ve eaten, if I need anything. Instead, she’d just gestured vaguely towards the kitchen with a pistachio-filled hand. “Dinner’s in the fridge. You can heat it up yourself.” A glance into the kitchen confirmed my suspicions. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the trashcan overflowed with the carcasses of a roasted chicken and empty oyster shells. She’d hosted her son for a feast in my home before sending him off in my car. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I went to my room, took out my phone, and made the call. “Yes, 911? I need to report a stolen car. The GPS tracker shows it’s currently near the waterfront district in the next city over.” My voice was calm, almost detached. “That’s right. It was taken from my home. Without my knowledge or permission.” Thirty minutes later, the banging began. 2 “Kate, did you call the police?” Susan Evans screamed through the door. “Derek just called me. The police have him pulled over!” The pounding intensified. “I know you’re in there, Kate! Stop hiding and come out here and face me! You coward!” I took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it. Susan’s face was a mask of crimson rage. “Are you out of your mind? I told you he was just borrowing it! I said he’d put gas in it! What is wrong with you?” She advanced on me, stabbing a finger in my direction. “He was just taking his girlfriend for a drive! Is that a crime? You have so many cars, what does it matter if he borrows one? Does it take a pound of your precious flesh?” Her voice rose to a fever pitch. “I have worked my fingers to the bone in this house! I’ve earned a little consideration! And you call the police over something this small? Now my son is being held by the police in another city! You’re humiliating him! If his girlfriend breaks up with him over this, will you take responsibility for that?” I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed. “Susan, I gave you a chance. I asked you, politely, to have your son bring the car back, and I would have forgotten the whole thing. Do you remember what you told me?” “Do you have any idea the kind of risk I’m exposed to when your son is driving my car?” I continued, my voice low and even. “If he hits someone and can’t pay for the damages, I’m the one who has to pay for everything.” “So what?” she spat. “You’re rich! I work for you! Shouldn’t you help us out? It’s just a car! It’s not like he wrecked it! He was going to buy you gas! Do you have to be so cruel? I see what this is. You rich people are all the same. You can’t stand to see working-class people have a single nice thing.” As she was winding up for another tirade, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She snatched it out, glanced at the screen, and jabbed the answer button, putting it on speaker. A man’s voice, shrill and panicked, crackled through the tiny speaker. The faint wail of a siren whined in the background. “Mom, what the hell is taking so long? These pigs have me boxed in, and they’re about to impound the car! You need to get her to call this off! Right now!” There was a pause, then: “My girlfriend is right here watching all of this! This is a total fucking disaster! If she dumps me over this, it’s on you! Do you want me to be alone forever?” A deeper, calmer voice interrupted from the other end. “Sir, who are you calling pigs?” Derek’s voice exploded from the phone. “I’m calling you a pig! What are you gonna do about it, you fucking asshole?” He was practically screaming now. “Are you blind? This is a goddamn G-Wagon! I’ll have your badge for this! I’ll have all your fucking jobs!” Hearing the escalating chaos, Susan shoved the phone toward my face. “This is your fault! None of this would be happening if you hadn’t called them! You tell them to let him go! Retract your statement right now!” “No.” I looked her dead in the eye. “You had your son steal my car, and you think you’re the victim here? Let him spend a night in a holding cell. Maybe he’ll learn something.” I took a breath. “And you? Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. You’re fired.” For a split second, she just stared. Then, her face contorted, and she lunged. The sharp crack of her hand across my cheek echoed in the hallway. “You worthless bitch!” she screamed, her voice guttural. “You want to ruin my son? I’ll kill you!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384515”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The year I was dirt poor, I walked into the factory and let the gears mangle two of my fingers for my grandmother’s thirty-thousand-dollar surgery. The owner, his face etched with pity, offered me eighty thousand in compensation. Drowning in guilt, I only took the thirty. Years have passed. My grandmother is long gone. But then I saw the trending news. That same factory had burned to the ground. The owner was dead—a heart attack, they said. His wife was missing. Their twelve-year-old son had been sent to an orphanage. I stared at the boy’s helpless, terrified eyes on the screen, then at the pills I was about to swallow. I washed them down the drain. Alright then… time to live again. All for the sake of that thirty thousand. 1 Even after all these years, the sight of my own hand, the two missing fingers, could still summon a thick, choking wave of guilt. But if I could go back, I know I’d do it again. Because back then, I was out of options. Utterly and completely. My grandmother found me in a dumpster on a snowy night. Without her, I would have frozen to death in the biting cold before my first sunrise. Now, she had stomach cancer, and the doctor said the surgery and follow-up treatments would cost eighty thousand dollars, minimum. We sold everything. Our tiny, crumbling one-room apartment, the mismatched, worthless furniture inside—all of it. It brought in a little over fifty thousand. We were still thirty thousand short. “Let’s not do it, Tally,” she’d said, her voice thin as old paper. “I’ve lived a full life. I can’t have you sleeping on the streets because of me.” I shook my head, my throat tight. “I’d rather sleep on the street than be without you, Nana. We… we have to do this.” She pulled me into her arms, her sigh melting into a sob. We just held each other and cried, a single, desperate knot of grief in the cold, dark night. We both knew what thirty thousand dollars was to us: an impossible, astronomical sum. Where could we possibly find that kind of money? She had no other family. She only had me. And I didn’t have the thirty thousand dollars that could save her. But at nineteen, I had a boundless, reckless courage. The moment I shoved my hand into the blur of the spinning gears, the pain was so blinding I nearly passed out. But through the haze, I saw the panicked, horrified faces of my coworkers, and in their eyes, I saw a flicker of hope. Nana was going to be saved. It was the only way. The only door I could find that led to her survival. 2 Mr. Henderson, the factory owner, was a good man. By the time he rushed to the hospital, my hand was already bandaged. He knelt beside my bed, his brow furrowed with such genuine pain. He reached out, wanting to touch my mutilated hand, but hovered, helpless, not knowing where to put his own. Finally, all he could manage was a heavy, heartbroken sigh. “Kid… you’re so young. What are you going to do now?” I turned my head away, unable to meet his eyes. I wasn’t a good kid. I didn’t deserve his sincere compassion. His wife, Anna, came to take care of me personally. She missed nothing. She would gently comb the tangles from my messy hair. She’d cut fruit into small, perfect bites, warm them slightly, and feed them to me one by one. It was a mother’s tenderness, a gentleness I had never known. It was completely different from the love Nana gave me. A coworker who came to visit whispered a warning in my ear. “Be careful. This is a classic gentle trap. They’re being nice now so they can pay you less in compensation later.” A switch flipped in my head. I became guarded, suspicious. I started trying to refuse their kindness. But they kept on, ignoring my deliberate coldness, tending to my physical needs and trying to soothe my spirit. When I was discharged, Mr. Henderson and Anna drove me home themselves. Nana cradled my hand, her palm holding the two stumps where my fingers used to be, and silent tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t speak, her whole body trembling with choked-back sobs. In that moment, a sliver of regret pierced through me. Maybe this hadn’t been the right way. The Hendersons were wiping their own eyes, looking around our bare, grim apartment. Nana’s skin had a sickly, yellowish tint; it was obvious to anyone that she was very unwell. They placed eighty thousand dollars in cash on our small, wobbly table. Neat stacks of bills. Nana shot up from her chair, her hands flapping in a panic, too flustered to form words. She could only look at me, her eyes wide with a silent, anxious question. “This is the company’s compensation for Tally,” Mr. Henderson said softly. “Please, take it. We’ll also cover any future medical expenses.” Shame washed over me, hot and heavy. I stared at the floor. The amount was far more than I expected. I’d consulted a legal aid lawyer, and the figure he’d quoted was significantly lower. This was a small factory, the kind where the owner himself had to go out every day to drum up business. Every dollar was earned with sweat. I was desperate for money, but… I couldn’t be that shameless. I couldn’t take more than I was owed. Assuming I had any conscience left at all. “It’s too much,” I mumbled. “I can’t take all of it.” Anna stroked my hair. “Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” she said, her voice a balm. “You have a long road ahead. Use this money. Learn a trade, something you can do to support yourself.” I kept my head down, tears dripping from my chin no matter how fast I tried to wipe them away. I couldn’t speak, just stubbornly shook my head, my neck stiff. I took thirty thousand dollars. I pushed the rest back toward them, my refusal absolute. Nana stared at the three stacks of bills I’d left on the table. Thirty. Thirty thousand. A number that was painfully, intimately familiar to her. Her expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then… a flicker of understanding, of dawning, soul-crushing pain. No one else understood why she suddenly broke down, her wails echoing in that tiny room. Only I did. I kept my head bowed, not daring to look anyone in the eye. I was afraid to see my own reflection in their pupils—despicable, shameful, ugly. In the end, my stubbornness won. I practically shoved them out the door, my face a cold mask. I even threw the remaining fifty thousand dollars after them, the stacks hitting Mr. Henderson’s chest and falling to the floor. I knew it was rude, unforgivable. But I didn’t know how else to refuse a kindness so warm it felt like it was burning me alive. Nana cried all night. No one was more heartbroken than her. My only regret was that I hadn’t hidden my plan better, that she had figured it out so easily. The next day, we packed our few belongings, left that tiny, broken-down room, and moved into the hospital. We said goodbye to our home. The only home Nana and I had ever had. I had no home anymore. But I still had Nana. And as long as I had Nana, I had a home. 3 Nana’s surgery was a success. But when she was discharged, we had nowhere to go. We ended up in a tent pitched under a highway overpass. Renting an apartment, even a room in a cheap motel, would have eaten through our money. Every single dollar had to be stretched to its breaking point. I had no idea how much her follow-up treatments would cost. All I could do was cut our expenses down to the bone. There were moments, many of them, when I regretted not taking that other fifty thousand. But I also knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my gut, that even if I could go back in time, I still wouldn’t have taken it. If I had, the weight of it would have broken my spine for good. I’d never have been able to stand up straight again. After two rounds of chemotherapy, Nana’s body was clearly struggling. She couldn’t stay in a drafty tent any longer. We moved into a cheap rental in a cramped, narrow alleyway. Winter was coming. It was so cold. I found a job doing food delivery. I worked like a machine that never needed to rest, juggling deliveries and taking care of Nana. On the side, I’d take any gig I could find at the downtown clubs—promo girl, shot girl, anything to fill the gaps. Whatever it took to make money. That was the closest I ever came to falling into the abyss. I saw so many ways to make fast cash, easy money that preyed on the desperate. My own sanity pulled me back from the edge. If I truly fell, if Nana ever found out, she would rather die than accept another day of treatment. Mr. Henderson and Anna found us during that time. They came to visit us once. I have no idea how much effort it took them to track down our new address. “Tally,” Mr. Henderson said, his voice gentle. “You could always come back to the factory. We could find a less strenuous position for you.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “A less strenuous job would mean lower pay, wouldn’t it?” I asked, my voice hard and hostile. “Are you going to be charitable and pay me more than I’m worth?” He nodded without a second’s hesitation. I didn’t accept the kindness. “I don’t need it. Are you pitying us? I can take care of my grandmother just fine on my own.” They both opened their mouths to speak, then closed them. Their faces were etched with pain, but they didn’t say anything more. Nana seemed scared of something. She waved her hands clumsily, rejecting the offer for me. “Our Tally isn’t going back to work there. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She stroked my scarred hand, her eyes filled with a raw terror. The Hendersons finally left with a heavy sigh, looking back every few steps. I watched their backs disappear down the alley and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Forgive my rudeness. Forgive my ugly, twisted heart. My tough act was a sham, built on a foundation of my own despicable actions. I wasn’t a good person. At least, I didn’t feel like one. Nana started crying, too. “It’s my fault, Tally. I’m a burden to you. This old woman… how could I drag down a child like this?” I spun around and hugged her tight, terrified. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re all I have, Nana. You just get better. Everything is going to be okay.” But would it? Looking at her waxy, sallow face, a seed of helpless despair took root in my heart. Nana didn’t speak, but the tears soaking into my sleeve said everything. One after another, an endless stream. She had suffered so much. How could I let her leave this world without knowing a single day of peace? I absolutely could not. That night, a plastic grocery bag appeared on our doorstep. Inside were two containers of nutritional powder for seniors. Underneath them, stacked neatly, was fifty thousand dollars in cash. Fifty. Another sensitive number. I knew immediately who it was from. I tried calling Mr. Henderson, but the phone just rang and rang, unanswered. Nana gently touched my hand, my fingers chapped and rough from the cold. “Tally, stop calling. We’ll take it. And someday… we’ll find a way to pay them back.” I looked at her, and her cloudy eyes were filled with a heartbreak that shattered me. I nodded, turning my head so my tears could fall into the shadows. It was the last stand of my youthful pride, my final, stubborn concession. 4 That winter was the most grueling and yet the most purposeful time of my life. Delivering food by day, working gigs at the clubs by night. I was so exhausted I could fall asleep sitting up anywhere. It was exhausting, yes, but the decent monthly income did little to ease the constant anxiety gnawing at me. Nana had chemotherapy every three weeks. Medical bills and nutrition were costs I couldn’t cut. The doctor said that if she ate well and kept her strength up, the side effects of the chemo would be less severe. During that time, every extra bite of rice she ate, every spoonful of soup she drank, would fill me with joy for hours. It was as if she wasn’t consuming food, but life itself. After her fourth round of chemo, it was time for a routine check-up. I was in the middle of a delivery run when my phone rang. It was her oncologist. “Your grandmother isn’t responding well to the chemotherapy,” he said, his voice flat with professionalism. “The scans show the tumors… they’ve spread to her liver and lungs.” The city flowed around me, a river of people and cars. I stumbled to the corner of the street, squatted down, and cried, my body shaking with huge, helpless sobs. Why? After everything I had done, why was this still the result? Couldn’t fate spare us just one small kindness? I clocked out early that day. I went to see the oncologist alone first. When I asked about the next steps, the treatment plan, all I got were heavy, regretful sighs. He was a young doctor, not much older than me. “Take your grandmother home, kid,” he said gently. “Don’t spend any more money at the hospital. Whatever she wants to eat, let her have it.” I knew he meant well, but I didn’t want to hear it. Every word felt like a death sentence, a final judgment from a god I had stopped believing in. It was impossible to accept for someone who had been clinging so desperately to the hope of a miracle. “If we just go home… what will happen to her?” “She’ll be in a lot of pain,” he said, his voice getting quieter. “She might run a fever, lose her appetite, not want to move. There could be fluid buildup in her abdomen.” He looked away, pretending to be busy with the screen on his desk. “What if I insist on continuing treatment?” I pressed, unwilling to give up. The doctor looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He lowered his voice. “If you insist on treatment… your grandmother will still go through all of that.” His words were the final blow. The tears I’d been holding back burst forth.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384530”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

We were on a reality show when my husband and his brother both fell into the lake. My wife, Cassandra, a strong swimmer, didn’t hesitate. She dove in and saved her childhood friend, my brother-in-law, Leo. I watched as she, frantic and tender, had her security detail lift him from the water, wrapping him in blankets and whisking him away without a single backward glance. I was left behind, sinking. The production crew pulled me out just as my lungs gave up. The next day, when I placed the divorce papers on her desk, Cassandra’s face hardened. “Leo can’t swim, River. That’s why I went for him first. Are you seriously going to be jealous about this?” I looked her straight in the eye, my own heart a placid, dead sea. “Yes. Sign them.” 1 We signed the papers with a quiet efficiency that felt more like a business deal than the end of a marriage. Cassandra’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were knitted together, a look that once would have sent a pang through my chest, but now stirred nothing. She slipped the documents into an exquisite, limited-edition Hermès bag. “I’ll give you a ride.” I shook my head. “No, thank you.” A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “River, you don’t have to be like this. We were married for three years. A divorce doesn’t mean we become strangers.” I was genuinely shocked for a second. I couldn’t believe those words were coming from her. Now that Leo was back—her golden boy, the one that got away—I thought she’d be thrilled that I was so gracefully stepping aside. “For me, Mrs. Sterling, a divorce is exactly that. It means we’re done. We’re not family. We can’t be friends.” “You…” “And since we have no children, no real ties, there’s no reason to stay in touch.” Stung, she turned on her heel and walked away. I watched her go, a long, weary sigh escaping my lips. But then I thought of the balance in my bank account, and the sadness evaporated. Though I was technically a Harrison, the eldest son, I’d never seen a dime of the family fortune. It was the divorce that finally made me a wealthy man. The Sterling family would never have agreed to a 50/50 split, so when my lawyer drafted the agreement, I asked for a clean twenty million. Cassandra agreed without a fight. She also signed over two sprawling properties in New York and L.A., three other houses across the country, and six commercial condos in prime downtown locations. It was enough to live on for the rest of my life, comfortably. Staring at the cold, hard numbers on my banking app, I started to laugh. It was real. I could finally start living for myself. The day after the divorce was final, I moved into a sleek downtown loft that was already in my name. The feeling of ownership, of having something that was truly mine, gave me a sense of security I’d never known. I had braced myself for an avalanche of grief. I thought leaving Cassandra would destroy me. For three years, despite everything, I had loved her. But that night, I had the best sleep of my life. A profound, long-overdue relaxation settled over me, and I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. 2 Cassandra and I were a product of a corporate merger in human form. Her grandfather and my own had been friends, business partners who had sealed a pact with the promise of a marriage between their families. But that promise was originally meant for Leo. He was, after all, the Harrison family’s little prince, cherished for eighteen years. I was the biological son they’d discovered by accident. The changeling. Before I was a Harrison, a girl like Cassandra—class valedictorian, campus queen, heiress to a billion-dollar empire—was in a different universe. We would never have met, let alone fallen in love. Then, at eighteen, my biological parents found me. They showed up in a black town car at the group home where I lived, weeping about a hospital mix-up, a careless nurse, a stolen life. I saw their expensive clothes and imagined a future of ease. A future where I wouldn’t have to collect cans to pay for textbooks, where I wouldn’t have to worry if the underfunded home could afford to send me to college. But the reunion didn’t bring the tearful apologies and lavish affection I’d read about in novels. It brought a polite, cold distance. That’s fine, I told myself. As long as I can go to school, that’s all that matters. They told me Leo’s biological parents had passed away, so he would be staying. He was their son. But their treatment of us was night and day. I wasn’t the son of the house; I felt more like the chauffeur’s kid. The reason they finally needed me came in the form of a catastrophe. Cassandra, the brilliant, untouchable girl Leo had been trailing after for years, had a horrific car accident. The doctors said her leg was permanently damaged. She would walk with a limp for the rest of her life. For a woman like her, it was a devastating blow. It wasn’t just about the loss of grace, but the inability to ever again wear the beautiful heels and short dresses she loved. Leo, upon hearing the news, had a screaming tantrum. He would not, he declared, marry a “cripple.” And so, the duty fell to me. I could have refused. But the image of that cool, stunning face, a face I hadn’t seen in over a year since starting college, flashed in my mind. On a strange, self-destructive impulse, I agreed. I was twenty, about to start my sophomore year at Columbia. My new parents had me withdraw from my classes and, at an age when most guys are figuring out their majors, I married into the Sterling dynasty. When I went to see her before the wedding, she was a storm of fury. She hurled a vase that shattered at my feet. “Get out! Tell Leo to come see me!” she screamed. But Leo was already gone. My parents had given him a black card and sent him off to study abroad, far away from the inconvenient reality of his “damaged” fiancée. The Harrison family business depended on the Sterlings, and while Leo refused to marry Cassandra, someone had to maintain the alliance. I was the placeholder. The spare part. It was the first and only time my mother, Mrs. Harrison, showed me anything resembling kindness. She cried, telling me how much the family was struggling, how pitiful poor Leo was, how my father’s hair was turning gray from stress. I was unmoved. Why all the drama? I was marrying Cassandra because I wanted to. Not for them. For her. 3 During my freshman year, Cassandra was a senior. She was a legend at Columbia—the brilliant campus beauty, with a confession page full of anonymous love letters and a line of wealthy suitors she consistently ignored. Back then, the only person she ever had by her side was Leo. His association with her made him a campus celebrity. He would boast about his unique place in her life, the unshakable position he held in her heart. I’ve always appreciated beauty, but it was her mind that truly captivated me. Her passion for mathematics, the way she could lose herself in complex theories, led to a series of papers published in prestigious academic journals. I read every single one. Her work clarified several problems that had stumped me for months. I was enthralled by her intellect. The slide from admiration to love was short and steep. On our wedding day, Cassandra didn’t smile once. I was so nervous my hands wouldn’t stop sweating, and I kept wiping them on my trousers. When I took her hand at the altar, I nearly stumbled. A ripple of laughter went through the guests. I felt like a cheap, clumsy impostor. I heard someone whisper Leo’s name, and Cassandra’s expression darkened even more. She loves him, I thought. Of course she does. Otherwise, why would she hate me so much? In that moment, I regretted everything—the marriage, my silent, stupid crush. That night, she was in control. I lay passive as she moved above me, her commands sharp and clear. I wasn’t to touch her, wasn’t to do anything that might displease her. Her injured leg made her movements awkward, and my own frustration grew. I wanted to flip her over, to take the lead, but the raw pain in her red-rimmed eyes stopped me. This wasn’t about pleasure for her; it was about release, about reclaiming some kind of power. Soon, our breathing grew heavy. A flush crept up her neck, and in the midst of her calculated control, I felt a flicker of genuine connection, a shared, unexpected pleasure. 4 Life within the Sterling family was surprisingly peaceful. There were no power struggles or family dramas. I was more at ease there than I ever was at the Harrisons’. I loved to read, to lose myself in the academic problems I’d left behind at Columbia. I may have dropped out of school, but I never stopped learning. Cassandra, in turn, began to change. The nights she spent away from home grew less frequent, until she was coming home every evening. Even on her busiest days, she’d send a text letting me know her schedule. I found an old Chinese medicine practitioner and learned therapeutic massage techniques. I thought, maybe, I could help her leg heal. I remember the first time I suggested it. My voice shook. But I started, and I persisted. For six months, I worked on her leg every single night. I became an expert, memorizing the entire map of the human body’s pressure points. My hands grew strong and sure. Cassandra went from protesting, to tolerating, to finally, eagerly anticipating our nightly thirty-minute sessions. Life was simple. To break the monotony one day, I went to deliver a file she’d forgotten to the Sterling Tower. In the lobby, a casting director for a web series stopped me. He said they were looking for an actor to play a brainy supporting character, a “nerd-type,” and that I had the perfect look. On a whim, I said yes. Cassandra didn’t object. To everyone’s surprise, the series became a viral hit. My character, the nerdy best friend, gained a small but devoted following. It was a strange new world, this entertainment business I’d stumbled into. Sterling Industries owned countless ventures; Rainfall Entertainment was just a tiny subsidiary. Cassandra’s only rule was that I never use the Sterling name for leverage. She said I was free to “play around” as I wished. So, I got an agent, Maria, and a small assistant. I started landing minor roles in bigger projects—the fourth, fifth, sixth supporting character. I became a B-list actor, and I found a strange joy in scrolling through comments on social media. One night, I was lying in bed, reading funny fan messages to Cassandra while my other hand worked on her leg. Lost in the moment, my hand drifted higher up her thigh. She let out a soft gasp. I thought I’d hurt her and immediately dropped my phone. But when I looked up, her face was flushed, her eyes wide with a different kind of emotion. The kiss that followed felt inevitable. What came after was natural, a seamless union. We found a rhythm, a deep and satisfying intimacy we had both been craving. From that point on, our relationship blossomed. She would bring me complex Lego sets she knew I’d love, buy me clothes and watches, and sometimes, she’d pull me out of the house for a movie or a quiet walk by the lake. We were like any other married couple. And her leg, under my constant care, was improving. Her doctor called it a miracle. Now, as long as she didn’t walk too fast, you could barely notice her limp. Then, in our third year of marriage, Leo came back. 5 The day he returned was the first time in a long time that Cassandra didn’t need me close. It was also the first time in three years my parents called, summoning both of us to the Harrison estate. Leo had been gone for three years without a single visit home. At the rare holiday gathering, my parents would awkwardly explain that his studies were too demanding. Cassandra would sit in stony silence, her thoughts a mystery. I, their biological son, had barely set foot in that house since my wedding day, yet the Sterling family’s generous support of the Harrison businesses had never wavered. When we arrived, we saw him—a handsome young man, rushing like the wind and throwing himself into Cassandra’s arms. I stood beside them, invisible, as Cassandra made no move to push him away. Nestled against her shoulder, Leo looked more mature, but he still called her “Cassie, Cassie,” his voice thick with emotion. Fat tears fell from his eyes, darkening the fabric of her white silk dress. Watching them, I felt a sharp, needle-like pain in my chest. I regretted coming back here more than anything. Finally noticing me, Leo straightened up. “Sorry, man. I was just so happy to see her. Cassie… oh, wait. Should I be calling you sister-in-law now?” A muscle in Cassandra’s jaw twitched. She shot him a cold look, took my hand, and led me to the dinner table. Leo stared at our joined hands, his eyes wide with shock. The meal was excruciating. My parents didn’t ask me a single question about my life. Instead, they focused all their energy on Leo and Cassandra, reminiscing about how he had always thought of his “Cassie-sis” while he was away. It felt like they were pimps, and Leo was their prized commodity. From that day on, Leo was a constant presence, a buzzing fly in our lives. And Cassandra, after less than a month of initial resistance, accepted it. Leo wanted to be an actor, so Cassandra assigned Rainfall Entertainment’s top agent to him. He started waltzing into the Sterling Tower like he owned the place. Everyone assumed he was the true son-in-law. My own identity at Rainfall was a secret; no one knew about my connection to Cassandra. But Leo was different. He’d call her from the lobby, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear as he flirted and wheedled, before taking takeout up to her executive office. After Cassandra had once coldly told me not to visit her at work, I never went back. Most people there thought I was just another desperate actor trying to sleep my way to the top. Leo was handsome and charming. With Cassandra’s backing, he skyrocketed to fame. The company’s resources were funneled directly to him. When my agent, Maria, asked if I knew him, I lied and said the shared last name was a coincidence. She launched into a tirade of gossip about him—how he was a diva on set, how he used his connection to the CEO to steal endorsements from other actors. It wasn’t until he’d stolen three major campaigns from me that I realized he was targeting me specifically. Cassandra, who had never given me a single advantage in my career, would walk past me in the hallways as if I were a stranger. Even then, I didn’t think about divorce. I really, truly loved her. Until something happened that, to her, was a small thing. But for me, it was the moment I knew we were over. 6 It was on the set of a popular wilderness survival show. They had invited both me and Leo. For the most part, it was fine. Leo played the part of the cheerful, energetic college kid, and I pulled my weight in the challenges. One afternoon, Cassandra made a rare visit to the set. The directors and producers swarmed around her, fawning. And that’s when the accident happened. We were on an old bamboo bridge over the lake. It was rotten, and when both Leo and I stepped onto it at the same time, it snapped. We both plunged into the cold water. Chaos erupted. Crew members started scrambling to help. But before anyone could move, Cassandra, the CEO of Sterling Industries, dove into the lake herself. Swimming was the only exercise she enjoyed after her accident; she was incredibly skilled. I can’t swim. When I saw her slicing through the water, I thought she was coming for me. Her husband. But then I watched as she reached past me, grabbed Leo, and started pulling him toward the shore. In that single, clarifying moment, my heart didn’t break. It simply went still. Three years, I thought. And she still doesn’t love me. It was as if she didn’t even see me struggling. She screamed for her bodyguards to get Leo, and then a whole entourage surrounded him, carrying him to her waiting Maybach. The panic on her face, the fierce protectiveness—it was all for him. As I slipped beneath the surface, the last thing I saw was the glint of her car driving away. By the time the crew realized I was still in the water and pulled me out, I was unconscious. It was a cruel twist of fate. Everyone had assumed someone else was saving me. In the commotion Cassandra had created, I had been completely forgotten. It was only when the assistant director screamed my name that they remembered I existed. I was rushed to the hospital. The show was put on hold. When I woke up, the only person by my side was my agent, Maria. She looked terrified, her eyes red and puffy. I tried to sit up. My body ached, but I seemed to be in one piece. “Maria, I didn’t die.” “Don’t you dare say that!” she scolded, her voice thick with emotion. “You scared the hell out of me, River. It’s all her fault, showing up like that, making a big show of saving that little brat. They just forgot about you. Does it… does it hurt?” “No,” I said, and it was the truth. “I don’t feel a thing.” My heart was calm. I had foolishly believed that being husband and wife made us a single entity. Reality had just delivered a brutal correction. Our story, I knew, was over. That afternoon, as I was being discharged, I saw them. Cassandra was supporting Leo, and walking beside them, beaming, were my parents. They looked like a perfect, happy family. Leo was leaning his full weight on Cassandra, completely oblivious to her bad leg, while my mother gently draped a coat over his shoulders. It was as if I didn’t exist to any of them. I watched them walk away, then pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the lawyer Maria had recommended. I told him to draw up divorce papers.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384546”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I came home soaked to the bone, and in Frank’s closet, I found a thick stack of old train tickets. He once took a twenty-eight-hour train ride just to see his first love. But he wouldn’t spare thirty minutes to pick me up from work when I had a raging fever. “Monica, is it fun, going through other people’s things?” I turned and held the tickets out to the man standing in the doorway. My voice was unnervingly calm. “Let’s call off the wedding.” Frank flicked his lighter open, and right in front of me, he burned the tickets until they were nothing but ash. “Happy now?” he asked, his tone flat. “Still want to call it off?” I nodded, my gaze serious. “Yes.” … “Monica, what do you want from me? What will it take to make you happy?” Frank’s brow furrowed, his voice laced with an exhaustion and impatience he didn’t bother to hide. “I’ll take my vacation time as soon as this project is done. We’ll go to Europe, a pre-honeymoon trip. How does that sound?” When I didn’t answer, he reached out, a familiar habit, and ruffled my hair. “I mean it this time. I won’t back out. Okay?” A bitter smile touched my lips. I mean it this time. So, he was aware. He knew just how many promises he’d broken. Holiday plans were always canceled at the last minute for an “emergency meeting.” Restaurant reservations always ended with me sitting alone, staring at cold food until the staff started closing up around me. Frank had a talent for forgetting the things he promised me, dismissing them as if they were trivial. And now, this offer, delivered with the magnanimity of a king bestowing a great favor. “No, thank you.” The fever made the room spin. I took a deep breath to fight back the lump forming in my throat. “We’re calling off the wedding. What’s the point of a honeymoon?” The warmth in his expression vanished, his eyes turning cold and dark. “Fine. Don’t go.” He straightened up, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I’m giving you a chance right now, Monica. You’re the one walking away from it. Don’t bring this up later, accusing me of breaking another promise.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. The rice porridge I’d put on the stove was ready. I ladled a bowl of the thin, watery soup—the only thing I could stomach when I was sick. Frank watched me, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Is that all you’re making?” “Mhm.” He stared at me for a long moment, then snatched his suit jacket from the sofa and headed for the door. I didn’t follow him. I didn’t ask where he was going, what he was doing, or if he could please, just this once, stay with me. His hand rested on the doorknob, his movement faltering for a fraction of a second. He was waiting. He didn’t get the plea he was expecting. Click. Thump. The door closed. And the door to my heart, which had always been open for him, sealed shut forever. I used to be so naive. I thought a man like Frank, born into a world so far above my own, was just naturally aloof, incapable of deep affection. Until I saw that stack of faded tickets. They were proof that he could love. And they were proof that he didn’t love me. The drenching from yesterday made my fever worse. My best friend, Maya, had to take me to the hospital. “How did it get this bad?” she asked, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead the second she saw me. Her face was a mixture of worry and fury. “And where is Frank? He’s your fiancé, for God’s sake. Is this his idea of taking care of you?” I shook my head. “Not anymore.” “What does that mean?” Maya had watched me fall for him, step by agonizing step. She’d seen every fight, every cold war, and she’d seen me be the one to surrender every single time. I looked down, a small, sad smile on my face. “She’s back.” Seraphina. The first love Frank could never forget. Even though I’d never met her, her presence had been a shadow hanging over me for years. Frank said posting on social media was childish, yet every profile picture he’d ever had before me was a photo of her. He hated having his whereabouts questioned, but he’d voluntarily checked in with her constantly. The first perfume he ever gave me was gardenia—her favorite scent. He claimed gallery-hopping with me was a waste of time, but he had once walked with her through every hidden corner of the city. From the day we started dating to the day we got engaged, he had never let her go. And me? I was just a strategic choice. The suitable partner he’d selected after weighing the pros and cons. I was the fiancée, not the love of his life. Maya stayed with me while I was on an IV drip, trying to comfort me until a call from her boss dragged her away for a work emergency. “I’ll be fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Go on, make that money.” As she left, a young couple, glowing with new love, took the spot next to me. The girl was whining playfully about how sick she felt. The boy’s eyes were red with worry, calling her “sweetheart” and “baby” as he fussed over her. I watched them in silence. I used to be so envious of couples like that, the ones who were openly affectionate in public. Why did they get to have their partners by their side, while mine was always somewhere else? Why? The answer had been right in front of me all along. It had taken me three years of making excuses for him, of telling myself he was just emotionally distant by nature, to finally see it. By the time the IV bag was empty, the sky outside had darkened. As I stepped out of the clinic, I heard a familiar voice. “Frank, I just twisted my ankle. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble and bring me to the hospital.” I turned. There he was, carefully helping a woman in a long, cream-colored dress. He was holding her high heels in one hand, his brow creased with concern. “Why are you wearing heels this high? Are you trying to break your ankle?” He saw me then. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it settled back into its usual cool, distant mask. He probably expected me to rush over, to make a scene. But I just looked away, my gaze dropping to my phone to check the status of my rideshare. The fever had left me weak, and a wracking cough escaped my lips. Frank’s eyes snapped to me, lingering for a second on my pale, tired face. His frown deepened. “Get in the car, Monica.” He walked over to me, his tone condescending. “If you wanted me to drive you home, you just had to ask.” “I didn’t.” He didn’t seem interested in whether I was telling the truth. He simply grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards his car. The air was thick with a familiar gardenia scent. It was coming from her. Seraphina. He handed me a bottle of water. I didn’t take it, so he tossed it onto the seat beside him. The silence in the car was suffocating. Seraphina let out a few delicate coughs. “Frank, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice soft and fragile. “I think I caught a chill yesterday. My throat is a little sore.” Instantly, Frank opened the glove compartment and handed her a box of throat lozenges. His voice was laced with a tenderness I had never heard before. “I told you the temperature drops at night here. I told you to bring a jacket, but you never listen.” Seraphina popped one into her mouth and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. “You’re always so thoughtful.” Frank? Thoughtful? I scoffed internally. Only for her. They fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about old times, their words flowing with an unspoken intimacy and shared history. I sat in the back, a complete outsider. Eventually, I just closed my eyes. When I opened them again, we were home. Seraphina was gone. Frank unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at me, his gaze lingering on my pale face. His brow was knitted in a tight knot. “Monica,” he said, his voice low and tinged with an irritation he couldn’t hide. “Do we really have to do this?” I met his eyes, confused. “If you want my attention, you can just say so. You don’t have to make yourself sick just to get me to notice you.” His voice was even, but every word was a razor blade, slicing at a heart that was already in pieces. I didn’t know what he was so angry about. Maybe I had ruined his precious reunion with Seraphina. Maybe I was just an inconvenience he was forced to deal with. “You give yourself way too much credit, Frank.” My voice was hoarse, but I fought to keep it steady. “I didn’t want a ride, and I certainly wasn’t trying to get your attention. It’s just a fever. I’m not an invalid.” I paused, then delivered the final blow. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. We’re not together anymore.” He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Not together? Monica, don’t forget, you still have the heirloom my grandmother gave you for our engagement.” His voice turned hard. “This whole ‘calling off the wedding’ tantrum is getting old. I’ll let it slide once or twice. I’ll even play along and humor you. But if you say it again, I’ll make it real. And when that happens, don’t you dare come crawling back to me.” My throat was raw. I didn’t have the energy for this. I opened the car door, but he was faster. He got out, came around to my side, and swept me up into his arms. It wasn’t a gentle gesture; it was rough, angry, but he didn’t let me fall. Inside, he placed me on the sofa and found the first-aid kit. He took my temperature and got me a glass of water, his movements efficient, his expression cold. I let him do it, my body pliant and silent. This was Frank. Hot and cold, a puzzle I could never solve. He would offer these small, almost insignificant moments of care that would send my hopes soaring, only to plunge me back into despair. But I was done trying to figure him out. “Thanks,” I rasped. I met his deep gaze and asked calmly, “Is there anything else?” His lips tightened. He seemed to be wrestling with himself before he finally spoke. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” I shook my head. I didn’t need to. I’d already seen Seraphina’s latest social media post. A photo geotagged at the airport with the caption: “It’s been a while. Hope you’ve been well.” Frank had liked it. “I’m really tired. I need to rest,” I said, pushing myself up from the sofa. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” In a few days, once my things were packed, I would be gone for good. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Monica!” His voice was laced with a frustrated helplessness. “I picked Sera up because she doesn’t know anyone else here. She twisted her ankle. I couldn’t just leave her there, could I?” It was the first time he had ever offered me an explanation. But I no longer cared to hear it. “Of course,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “You did the right thing.” He stared at me, searching my blank expression for any sign of jealousy or hurt. He found none. “Monica, Sera and I are just friends now.” “I know,” I said, nodding with a disinterest that was entirely genuine. Suddenly, he pulled me against him, his body a familiar, burning warmth that I had once craved more than anything. He knew I loved his hugs. He thought this one simple gesture could break down my defenses, just like it always had before. But my body remained stiff. I raised my hands and pushed against his chest. “Let go of me, Frank.” He froze, clearly stunned by my reaction. A dark, ugly expression clouded his face. The next day, I went to my office to hand in my resignation. I was told a major client was visiting. And there was Frank, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, exuding an aura of power as he led the way. The “secretary” by his side was Seraphina. “This way, please,” I said, my voice so professional it surprised even me. I led them to the conference room. Throughout the meeting, Frank’s eyes would occasionally drift to me, analytical and assessing. Seraphina would catch his eye and they would share a small, knowing smile. I overheard two junior colleagues whispering behind me. “Mr. Vance is so handsome. And so successful. Did you see how thoughtful he was with his secretary?” “I know! He even pulled out her chair for her. They look so perfect together.” Their words were like tiny needles piercing my heart. In three years, Frank had never once come to my office, not even to pick me up. The first time he ever set foot in my workplace was for this. With her. The irony was crushing. After my presentation, Frank spoke, his tone dismissive. “Ms. Ross is clearly an expert on this project. She will be your point of contact going forward.” “But, sir…” one of my colleagues started, about to mention my impending resignation. But Frank had already turned and was walking away, Seraphina at his side. He didn’t look back. Their silhouettes, side by side, were a perfect match. A picture-perfect couple. It had taken me three years to finally understand that the place beside him was never meant for me. This weekend was his grandmother’s 80th birthday. I had promised her months ago that I would be there. After much hesitation, I decided to go. After all, I had something I needed to return. The party was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s finest hotel, filled with industry titans and socialites. It was as much a business gathering as a family celebration. Frank, of course, was one of the stars of the show. And standing next to him, exquisitely dressed, was Seraphina. He was leaning in, listening intently as she spoke. His eyes occasionally swept over to my side of the room, as if gauging my reaction. A moment later, Seraphina seemed to choke on her champagne. He was instantly at her side with a napkin, his movements practiced and intimate. Halfway through the dinner, I needed some air. I stepped out onto the terrace and heard voices coming from the shadows. It was Frank and his best friend. “Fighting with Monica again?” Frank grunted an affirmation, swirling the wine in his glass. His friend sighed. “Man, I don’t get you. You obviously care about her, but you always have to be so difficult. You always make her be the one to back down. You’re lucky she’s so patient.” “I know,” Frank said, his voice unreadable. “You know? You know, and you still bring Seraphina to your grandmother’s birthday party? That’s a slap in the face, and you know it. She has to know about your history.” “Aren’t you afraid you’ll push her too far? That she’ll finally get fed up and leave you?” There was a pause. “She won’t,” Frank said, his tone one of absolute certainty. “Monica… she would never leave me.” He was always so confident. Confident in my love, in my tolerance, in the belief that I would always forgive him. It’s what allowed him to be so reckless. I was about to turn away when a soft voice spoke from behind me. “Ms. Ross? Fancy seeing you here. Can we talk for a moment?” Seraphina approached, her tone as warm as if we were old friends. “We’ve never had the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Seraphina.” She smiled, but her eyes held a glint of challenge. “You’ve probably heard of me, but I’m just Frank’s secretary now. I hope that’s not a problem for you.” My expression remained neutral. “Are we supposed to know each other, Ms. Vane?” My calm dismissal clearly annoyed her. A flicker of anger crossed her face. Then, she swayed, stumbled, and fell to the ground, taking a champagne tower down with her. The crash was deafening. Frank was there in an instant. “Monica, what the hell did you do?” he snarled, his eyes blazing. “What is wrong with you?” I didn’t bother to explain. Instead, I picked up a fresh glass of red wine, walked right up to him, and threw its contents in his face. As he stared at me in stunned disbelief, and Seraphina gaped from the floor, I raised an eyebrow. “See that, Frank?” I said. “That I did.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384563”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After I called off my engagement to Max, we ran into each other in the maternity ward of the hospital. He was holding hands with his first love, Ava, their fingers intertwined, their every move an intimate dance. When Ava saw the pregnancy report in my hand, her eyes instantly welled with tears. Max’s brow furrowed, his expression cold as ice. “Deal with it. Don’t make a scene.” I shot him a chilling glance. “It’s not yours.” Later, his voice was tight with desperation, “Even if it’s not mine, I’ll claim it.” But then he saw Teddy, wrapped in a towel with his sculpted torso on full display, strolling out of the bathroom. “Well, Max,” Teddy drawled, “Trying to steal my wife and my kid? You really are ambitious, aren’t you?” 1 The text from Max canceling our engagement arrived while I was at the hotel, finalizing the layout and details with the wedding planner. “Ava’s back. The engagement is off.” I stared at the screen, the air knocked from my lungs. I was frozen in place. The planner was still talking right next to me, but his voice was a muffled drone. I couldn’t make out a single word. “And then what?” I typed, my hands trembling. Max’s reply was instant, devoid of any hesitation. “She’s been diagnosed with severe depression. She’s back in the country for treatment and can’t handle any stress.” I remembered the taunting message Ava had sent me just last night. “As long as I want him, you two will never get married.” I had thought, with both our families and all our friends already notified, that Max wouldn’t indulge her games this time. But I had underestimated how much she meant to him. Swallowing my rage, my fingers flew across the screen. “So when she’s cured, we can get engaged then?” I had no intention of arguing with him about whether Ava was truly sick. Even if I exposed her lies, Max would just see it as me being unreasonable. He didn’t reply. My message vanished into a digital abyss. A wave of icy dread washed over me, starting from my toes and creeping to my fingertips, as if I’d been doused with freezing water in the dead of winter. He always did this—ran from our problems. In his mind, I’d cool down and come back to him eventually. But this time, I was just… tired. I had no fight left in me to compete with Ava for his love, no energy left to wait for another empty apology and another broken promise. I called off the hotel staff and paid the cancellation fee. Then, I sent Max one last message. “We’ll notify our own friends and family.” His reply was brutally simple: “Okay.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I deleted him from my contacts. 2 My seven years with Max had been a roller coaster of breaking up and getting back together. And every single time, it was because of Ava. He loved her but couldn’t marry her. He didn’t love me, but I was the one he was supposed to marry. Max’s mother had once told me, quite bluntly, that she wasn’t looking down on my family’s fallen fortune. She had pushed for this engagement under immense pressure because she thought I was beautiful enough, and that the history we shared as childhood sweethearts was strong enough. She hoped I could be the one to finally tie Max down and drive away the delusional woman hovering around him. I used to believe that if I just tried hard enough, if I just stayed by his side, one day he would finally see me. But that day never came. My love for him had been worn down, piece by piece, until nothing was left. When I got back to our house to pack, Max still wasn’t home. He was at a restaurant, having dinner with Ava. She’d posted a picture on her Instagram. Max’s face wasn’t in it, but the ring on his hand was unmistakable. It was one of the engagement rings we had picked out together. I slipped my own ring off and placed it on the dining table. But then I reconsidered. Why bother trying to get his attention? I picked up the ring, walked to the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet without a second thought. I was dragging my suitcase to the front door when Max walked in, carrying Ava in his arms. “Long time no see,” I said breezily, nodding at Ava. Ava looked startled, glancing at Max, completely at a loss. I suppose she was used to me turning into a screaming wreck after a few of her provocations. My current state of calm seemed to have thrown her off completely. Max’s gaze landed on the suitcase in my hand. His surprise was fleeting, his expression quickly returning to its usual indifference. “This is for the best,” he said. “You moving out for a while will be better for Ava’s recovery.” Asking his fiancée to move out of their home so his first love could recuperate there. He said it so shamelessly, so matter-of-factly. And I had loved this piece of trash for seven years… I was done playing games. I pulled my suitcase and walked out without looking back. As I walked away, I heard him say, “Don’t worry about her. She always comes crawling back.” Ava’s voice was a sweet pout. “You’re not even going to comfort me when I’m upset?” “How could I ever bear to make you upset?” I fought the bile rising in my throat and walked faster. 3 I moved back into the apartment I’d bought myself. It was situated above a bustling commercial district. I liked the noise, the energy, the feeling of life. Max preferred quiet. He hated this apartment. And he especially hated my neighbor, Teddy. Another golden boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, just like him. Max despised Teddy. I think it was because he was jealous of Teddy’s courage to fight for love, a courage Max himself lacked. Teddy had the guts to break with his family over a woman; Max didn’t. And Teddy was far more reckless than Max ever could be. The woman Teddy wanted to marry was a B-list actress, plagued by scandals from the moment she entered the industry. His family would never allow an actress, a “performer,” to marry their heir. So Teddy simply walked away, ready to build his own empire rather than compromise. Compared to Max, who wanted to have his cake and eat it too, I genuinely admired Teddy’s unwavering devotion. The night I moved in, Max did something he never did: he called me. “I’m worried Ava will get upset if she sees the things you left behind,” he said, his tone still dripping with that condescending generosity. “Where are you now? I’ll have them sent over.” I didn’t stop folding my clothes, just cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Just toss them,” I said nonchalantly. “It’s all stuff I don’t need anymore.” Silence on the other end, punctuated only by the sound of his heavy breathing. A moment later, his voice was tight with anger. “Cara! What the hell is your problem?” “The engagement is only postponed. Once Ava is stable…” I cut him off, unable to listen anymore. “Sorry, Mr. Cole, I’m really busy right now.” I hung up and blocked his number. Stepping out onto the balcony, I let the night breeze wash over me, gazing at the glittering city lights. Leaving Max was easier than I ever imagined. A soft, rhythmic sound from below broke the quiet. I instinctively leaned over the railing to look. The balcony below was lush with plants. Through the leaves, I could just make out a pair of pale hands gripping the railing, and the top of a bobbing head. Well now. That was Teddy’s apartment, where he lived with the actress. Those two certainly knew how to have fun. Not wanting to pry, I went back inside to finish unpacking. Suddenly, there was a knock on my door. When I opened it and saw who was standing there, my brain short-circuited for a second. If Teddy was here… Then who was that downstairs?! 4 A flicker of surprise crossed Teddy’s eyes as well. “Sorry, wrong door,” he said, turning to leave. “I just moved in today,” I called after him. “Want to come in for a drink?” I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I felt a bit sorry for him. A fellow member of the recently-cheated-on club. Teddy turned back, an eyebrow arched. “Oh? So we don’t have to keep our distance anymore?” Max hated Teddy, which meant he hated me having any contact with him. Even though Teddy was the primary investor in my chain of flower shops, we barely ever met, save for a brief meeting at the end of the year to go over profits. Come to think of it, it was through Max’s family connections that I was able to reconnect with Teddy and secure his investment in the first place. The shops were now turning a healthy profit, which gave me the courage to walk away from Max. So, I guess my seven years with Max weren’t a complete waste. I shrugged. “We broke up.” “Again?” A smirk played on Teddy’s lips, a hint of schadenfreude in his eyes. He strolled in, draping himself over my sofa and propping his long legs up on my coffee table. He had none of the cool, aristocratic air I remembered from our first few meetings; he was all casual, roguish charm. I picked out a fine bottle of red from my wine cabinet. “This time, the engagement’s off.” I handed him a glass, my expression neutral. He swirled the wine, a laugh bubbling up. “Whoa, expensive stuff.” “Looks like you got hit hard this time. Need me to help you drink your sorrows away?” If he hadn’t knocked on the wrong door, he’d be the one getting hit much, much harder. I nodded. “It is expensive. It was a gift from you, last year at the annual party, after you got drunk.” It was a collector’s vintage. I hadn’t wanted to take it back to Max’s place, so I’d stored it here. Now, it was finding its way back to its original owner. Teddy’s eyes widened slightly before he tipped his head back and downed the glass in one go. “Well, let’s just call it a celebration of your escape from hell.” I raised my glass. “And here’s to you…” “…finding your own true love soon.” Being cheated on is something no man wants to hear about from someone else, especially from a woman he barely knows. Unfortunately, my subtle hint went right over his head. He just smiled, his handsome, almond-shaped eyes holding a charm that could bewitch anyone. A blind man, it turned out. “My true love is right here with me,” he said. “You should save that toast for yourself.” But thinking back, wasn’t I just as blind? Teddy was willing to break from his family for that actress. And my own heart had been shattered into a million pieces by Max. 5 The wine went down easy, but the delayed punch of the cabernet was brutal. Before I knew it, I was completely wasted. I was clinging to Teddy, a mess of tears and laughter, cursing Max one minute and myself the next. Teddy gently pushed me away, his tone teasing. “If Max saw you holding onto another man like this,” he drawled, “he wouldn’t take you back even if you begged him on your knees.” The memory of the past seven years, of me always being the one to swallow my pride and beg for reconciliation, flooded back. Fueled by alcohol, all my pent-up frustrations came pouring out. “This time, I’m the one who doesn’t want him!” I slurred. “Even if he gets on his knees and begs me, I’m not going back!” “You mean it?” Teddy’s voice was intense, his gaze burning. Sprawled on the sofa, I didn’t see the galaxy of stars glittering in his eyes. I just mumbled, “As real as it gets.” In the hazy space between dream and reality, I felt a warm pressure on my lips. An electric tingle traced paths across my skin. Instinctively, I responded to the searing heat, giving in to the passion. When my mind finally cleared, it was noon the next day. My entire body ached, as if it had been run over by a truck. My eyes fell to the floor, where a tangled mess of clothes lay discarded. Then I saw him. Lying next to me, bare-chested, was Teddy. His long lashes rested on his cheeks, deep in sleep. A few faint, rosy marks—kisses—were scattered across his muscular chest. Flashes of the night before… My mind exploded. Did I just have a one-night stand with Teddy?! Whatever his girlfriend was doing last night, they were still together. What did that make me? How was I any different from her? If word got out that I’d broken them up, the gossip would bury me alive. Holding my breath, I carefully lifted Teddy’s arm from around my waist. Like a thief, I tiptoed around, gathered my clothes, grabbed my phone, and fled my own apartment. I didn’t feel safe until I was speeding towards my office, the gas pedal pressed to the floor. I just had to hope that when Teddy woke up, he’d be just as eager as I was to forget last night’s insane mistake. “Ms. Lin, Mr. Cole is waiting for you in your office,” my assistant whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “He was… really angry earlier.” She must have caught the brunt of his temper. I walked in. Max was leaning against my desk, arms crossed. My suitcase was on the floor beside him. He saw me and his face hardened into a scowl. “Cara, you’ve got some nerve, blocking my number!” He gestured to the suitcase. “Here’s the rest of your stuff. You can move back in once Ava’s feeling better.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “The engagement is off. Why would we need each other’s numbers? Please do me a favor and block me too.” Max’s eyes flashed with surprise, then irritation. “What kind of game are you playing now? I’ve told you before, you can’t compete with Ava. In my life, she will always come first.” “If you want to be Mrs. Cole, you’ll learn to behave.” 6 I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mr. Cole, was I not clear enough?” “We. Called. Off. The. Engagement.” “Who you put first has absolutely nothing to do with me. Do you understand?” I enunciated each word of that last sentence. He froze, his gaze locking with my cold, indifferent stare. For the first time, Max lost his composure in front of me, his mask of superiority crumbling. A vein pulsed in his neck as he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Cara! If you think I have the time or patience for your little push-and-pull games, you’re dead wrong! This is your one and only chance. Either you play along and wait until Ava’s better for our engagement, or you get out of my life and never show your face again!” Without a word, I bent down and picked up the files he had angrily swept to the floor. “Just as long as you stop showing up here and throwing tantrums, Mr. Cole, I can guarantee you’ll never see me again.” He was so used to me fawning over him that my blatant disregard was more than he could handle. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. “Don’t come crawling back to me like a pathetic dog,” he snarled. “I’m sick of watching you beg!” His words were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. Even though the love was gone, seven years of my life, a heart offered so freely, being trampled on like this… it still hurt. But I didn’t have much time to wallow. My phone began to explode with calls and texts from Teddy. “So you just eat and run? Classy.” “Is this how you treat your lead investor?” “Was I that bad last night?” “You have three minutes to answer your phone, or I’m coming to your office.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I read his messages. I was terrified. In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of: I turned off my phone. Last night wasn’t my idea, but… I hadn’t exactly said no. Teddy was reckless. He feared nothing and no one. I wasn’t like him. My business was just taking off; I had too much to lose. I couldn’t fight him, so I had to run. I booked the next flight to Paris. The visa was originally for my honeymoon with Max. Now, I was using it to escape a different kind of entanglement.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384579”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel